The Twelve Days of Christmas: a FrUK fanfiction
by Spottedmask77
Summary: After America dubs England host of his annual Christmas party, the island nation believes that it will be horrid, especially since coming to terms with his new-found feelings about France. But the trouble is duodecupled when the frog's flight out of England is postponed until the Epiphany. Strangely convenient... Rated T for cursing and suggestive themes. Updated every day!
1. Chapter 1

**Well, look who's writing FrUK! This is basically, you know, the twelve days of Christmas, except it starts today! :D Updates every day until the 6th, too. And there might be an epilogue. But I'm honestly not sure yet.**

**Disclaimer: Because I would totally be writing fanfiction if I owned Hetalia.**

* * *

England trudged toward the London Underground, a sour look on his face. It seemed that an unpleasant expression was always there, but today he had a special reason. It was that time of year again, the time when pine trees were adorned with lights and ornaments, the time when everybody the British nation came across was so damn _happy._ England scowled. He might have even enjoyed the season of winter, with the London rain for once falling to the ground as soft flakes, if not for the bloody holiday of Christmas.

Maybe the island would take pleasure in Christmas if he was left alone. Maybe he would like it if he locked himself in his Victorian home, avoiding the commercialization that had started even before All Hallows Eve. And he could even use the silly little 'Twelve Days of Christmas' his Catholic citizens had created in the 14th (or was it 15th? 16th? Britain didn't remember) century as an excuse to be antisocial until the Epiphany.

"Hey Brit…ish dude!" a loud voice stumbled over calling England by his country name. The Brit sighed, clucked his tongue, and whirled around just in time to be tackled into a nearby snowdrift.

"America!" he spat angrily, earning a few strange glances from passer byes, not to mention the stray giggles from the situation he was in.

"Alfred, dude!" the blue-eyed country laughed, spitting out some snow. "I'm incognito!"

"Well, I'm surprised you know such a large word!"

"Large word? It's only nine…." Alfred trailed off, suddenly realizing Britain had just insulted him. A pouty look crossed his face. "Aw, Artie, that's mean. And here I was going to invite you to my Christmas party!"

_ Invite me? _Arthur thought, secretly touched. Yet what came out of his mouth was, "Well, I have better things to do on Christmas." Arthur then proceeded to try to push the heavy American(not surprising, considering how much that guy eats) off of him in vain.

"That's totally the best part!" Alfred said excitedly, cheering as the word 'Christmas' exited England's mouth. He clambered off of Arthur. "The party is ACTUALLY on Christmas Eve! Brilliant, right?"

"Brilliant is not the word I would use to describe that," Arthur wheezed, out of breath from America squishing him. He stood up, shivering and trying to catch his breath. Blasted snow. "Unoriginal, more likely."

Alfred F. Jones didn't seem to hear him. "Dude, you _have got to come_," he stressed. "This is do-or-die."

"Death seems quite lovely compared to spending Christmas Eve with my so called 'friends,'" Arthur put air quotes around the word.

"But Aaaaaaartieeeeeeeee….." America whined, tugging on England's coat.

"Don't call me that!" Britain snapped. He made the mistake of looking into Alfred's puppy dog eyes(a technique that had been perfected over the years) and sighed, then gave up. "Fine. I'll go, okay? But only because you wouldn't stop badgering me when I said no….." Arthur sulked.

America gave him a wide smile and hugged him, though it felt more like another tackle. "Thanks, dude! You're the best! The party is from seven to whenever the last drunk guest stumbles out the door!" Digging around in his pocket, Alfred pulled out a scrap of paper. "Here's the guest list!"

"What?!"

America had already started running. He slowed slightly to call back, "Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you! The party is at your place this year, man!"

"AMERICA!"

"Incognito, Artie! Your old age must be getting to you!"

* * *

"Old age?" Arthur muttered as he tidied up the house and rearranged the ornaments on his tree. "I'm not _old_. It's simply that he's _young_. Not even three hundred yet!" Inspecting yet another old medallion he hung on the tree each year, he pulled the crumpled guest list out of his pocket, sighing. _Now who might be offended by this….ah. Spain. _England huffed, moving the medal to the back of the tree. He inspected the list once more.

_ Half of these countries don't even particularly _like _America, _he grumbled to himself in his head. Then, out loud, "Well, at least I can hope to keep things under control." His eyes wandered farther down, then back up, catching a name he had prayed not to be there. It was inevitable.

_ France._

Britain shouldn't have been surprised. France was (regrettably) part of the Allies, as well as a decent friend to Alfred. _Unlike to me, _he thought as a flame of jealousy burned inside him. _No. _England shook his head. _Not jealousy. Hate. Hate!_

"You…..bloody…..fucking…..wanker….." Britain muttered a variety of swears under his breath as he dialed America's cell phone number. It rang twice, and then his former colony picked up.

"Hey Artie!" America exclaimed loudly.

"Shut up!" England yelled. "Why didn't you TELL me France was on the list?!"

"Well, I kind of assumed you knew. We're friends, dude," America laughed, a note of confusion in his voice.

"Well….I….!" Britain struggled for the right words. How dare America use logic for once in his life! "You…..you neglected the fact that I can't stand him!"

"Yo, Artie, don't worry. There will be plenty of other guests to annoy…..um…_distract _you! And France is going to be hanging out with Spain and Prussia, so there probably won't be any bloodshed."

"What do you mean 'probably'?! Because I swear to God that if that _frog _slips in a feel that French blood will be spilled tomorrow night!"

"And that's only between you and France. I hear Hungary has a bone to pick with Prussia."

"WHAT."

"Sorry, dude! Gotta go; I'm about to enter a tunnel!" America said. "See you tomorrow!"

"You fucking American if you hang up that phone I swear I will -"

England heard a distinctive _click _as Alfred hung up.

"Shit."

Arthur decided to turn in early that night.

* * *

**So yeah. One chapter a day. Easy, right? Ah ha ha WRONG!**

**Also. Alfred will be *le gasp* LESS of an idiot. Because there are some smart Americans. Shocking, right? (No offense to fellow residents of the USA!)**

**So please review and favorite! For me! I want to feel appreciated!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm back! I told you I would update every day! And yes, I am an idiot!**

**A note: Rita Jones is the personification of New York(my personification, anyway), and her picture can be found here:** spottedmask77. /art/Burgers-and-Bad-Jokes-400715476

**Disclaimer: Because I would totally be writing fanfiction if I owned Hetalia.**

**Day: December 24th**

* * *

Early morning sunlight streamed through the window, hitting Arthur's face and forcing him to wake from his slumber. One forest green eye cracked open, then the other. They blinked a few times, and the blonde, messy haired man sat up in bed. He yawned, then scowled.

_ America._

England tied his green robe securely at his waist, the tromped downstairs. He forcefully grabbed the landline and punched in Alfred F. Jones's number.

"'Sup?"

"America, I'm not sure if this got through to you last night, but I am NOT going to host your little party!" Britain exploded.

"Yeah, I'm really sorry 'bout last night, dude. Like I said, I was about to enter the Lincoln Tunnel." At least the annoying country had the decency to sound ashamed.

"I don't want to hear your excuses! I just want to be left alone today!" Arthur yelled.

"Dad? Who're you talking to?" a voice said in the background.

"It's Artie," America answered, then spoke back into the receiver. "Sorry, dude. I'm hanging out with my daughter in Rockefeller Center!"

"Rita, I presume, since you're in her state?" England said dryly.

"Who else? Nothing like Christmas in NYC!"

"I don't know; it's not like you could be spending the day with one of your other FORTY NINE other children," Britian sarcastically said.

"Glad you understand! Listen, I gotta dash. Rita's taking me to the Statue of Liberty's crown. Talk to you later at the party tonight, kay?" Alfred said brightly.

"No! Don't hang up! The point of this call was to -!" Arthur heard the line go dead. Slamming down the receiver, he started to rant at his cat, Sir Peter Napaldi, about the stupidity of Americans and cell phones and Christmad parties and the annoyingness of Frenchies and this is EXACTLY why princesses under no circumstances should kiss frogs.

"And that, Sir Napaldi, is why I am totally when Mary Queen of Scots shows up as a therapist in my dreams!" England concluded triumphantly. Sir Peter Napaldi yawned, and curled up into a ball of fur.

"Hmph. Fine. Be that way," Britain sulked, glaring at the clock. It read 8:00.

This was going to be a very, very long day.

* * *

Arthur stood in line for the store, tapping his foot impatiently. Gradually, the line moved forward, and soon he was at the checkout.

"Hello there! And how may I help you today?" the young woman there said cheerily.

"Yes, I'll just pay for these items," Arthur lay down the assortment of objects in his arms. He had decided to make things simpler by just buying presents for his colleagues in the G8, instead of every country in the world, excluding himself. This helped him greatly, in both carrying the items back to his car and saving him a great deal of money. "Do you happen to wrap here?"

"We do, in fact! Some last minute Christmas shopping, I suppose?" she asked, scanning the objects rapid fire, then moving to grab some boxes and wrapping paper from below the checkout.

"Yes, quite," England sighed. "My idiot friend scheduled a Christmas party at my house this year. Didn't bother to tell me about it until yesterday."

The woman snorted, a smile on her face, and Britain offered his own small grin in return, "So who's the giant box of chocolate for?" She clicked a pen to fill out the tag.

"Incidentally, the same friend. Alfred Jones, his name is," Arthur said.

"And your name?"

"Arthur Kirkland."

"You think it'll be enough for him? The woman joked. Arthur, in all seriousness, replied, "No. It's lucky if it lasts the night."

"Quite a large eater, is he?" she asked, already onto the next present: a box of pasta.

"He's American," Arthur murmured. "So very, very American."

The woman looked slightly confused, but didn't proceed farther. "And this…..ah…..box of pasta is for…..?"

"Feliciano Vargas. V-a-r-g-a-s."

"Got it. And the….oh my," she said quietly. England looked at the present in her hand and blushed.

"Ludwig is…er….I don't know, he got it from Fin-I MEAN our acquaintance Tino last year, and seemed pretty content with it and….and…." England desperately groped for a better reason.

"Ah," the woman still had red on her face, and took the awkward silence to say, "I'm Emma, by the way."

England nodded. "I'm…well, I've already told you my name," he said sheepishly. Emma laughed, then (finishing Germany's rather interesting gift) started to wrap the hat with a large sunflower on it. After she was done wrapping that, she looked at Arthur, waiting for the name.

"Ivan. Just…..just don't ask," Britain warned, turning slightly pink once again. Emma took the hint, and just moved onto the next present. They made their way through the other gifts, a lewd comment here and there. There was a watercolor set for Kiku, a stuffed Hello Kitty for Yao, and a bottle of maple syrup for Matthew(whose name Arthur could not recall for sometime, muttering things under his breath such as, "He's the second largest country in the world…" and "The landmass right above America…..").

Finally, they arrived at the last present: a fashionable scarf, which England had picked out for Francis.

"Trendy," Emma said approvingly. "For your girlfriend, I suppose?"

"No," Arthur said testily.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend," she apologized quickly. Then, eyes twinkling, "Boyfriend?"

"OH HELL NO."

Emma giggled. "Alright, alright, I'm _sorry_. Who is it for?"

Arthur glared at the tag, as if hoping it would burst into flames. "Address it to 'Frog'."

"'Frog', sir?"

"Yes, yes, 'frog,'"

"If you say so," Emma shrugged. "Here you go, Mr. Kirkland." She handed him the wrapped and addressed gifts. "Am I allowed to know the frog's _real _name?"

"Francis. Francis Bonnefoy," Arthur gritted his teeth, and started for the exit of the store. "The most annoying, obnoxious, flirtatious Frenchman to ever walk the Earth." England did not know what provoked him to say his final comment to the clerk woman Emma. "Not to mention he believes that he is, and just might be, a complete and utter sex god."

And with that, Arthur Kirkland exited the store, with his dignity somehow still intact.

* * *

"By the Queen, why did I say _that_?!"

Arthur knocked his head against the mirror in the bathroom. "'Just might be a complete and utter sex god?' No! No! Loud and stupid and froggy…..and French…." England shook his head violently. "Goddamit, that is not a good thing!"

Arthur stomped over to the kitchen to fix himself a cup of tea to calm his nerves. "Flying Mint Bunny, what am I to _do_?" he moaned.

The little green rabbit hovered in the air by his head. "C'mon! If you're overwhelmed by the French, you should do something counteractive! Or in this case, something British! Something _you_, Arthur!"

"Like what?"

"Like…..um….make a list of the pros and cons of the French?"

England snorted.

"France only has only cons," he rolled his eyes.

"Well, how about I make a list of pros and you make a list of cons?" Flying Mint Bunny suggested.

Arthur reluctantly agreed. Picking up a black ballpoint pen, he clicked it and started writing.

Cons

-He's French

-He always loses wars

-He helped America in the Revolution

-He's friends with Spain and Prussia

-His hair is too long

-He's a frog

-He speaks his froggy language

-I thought he was a girl when I first met him

-He's a pervert and a whore

-He doesn't care about anyone but himself

"Okay, I'm done!" chirped Britain's magical friend. "Ten pros."

"Eleven cons," Arthur said smugly. "My hate is justified."

"Iggy!" Flying Mint Bunny complained, looking at his England's list. "Some of these aren't true, and some don't have anything to do with why you dislike him so much!"

"What doesn't have anything to do with it?"

"For one, the one that says 'I thought he was a girl when I first met him'." Flying Mint Bunny raised an (adorable) eyebrow. "So you dislike him for _your _mistakes?"

"Yes. How is that unreasonable?" England grumbled, and glared at the opposite list. "There are a few mistakes you made as well. I do NOT love him! And even if I _did, _he would never love me back. He is a fucking slut. These are common facts!" England stormed off.

Flying Mint Bunny looked sadly at the back of his head as he ran upstairs. "Oh, Iggy. France really does care dearly for you, and you're a fool if you didn't realize it sooner. He's not a slut. Why must you say such cruel things about him?"

"AND HE IS NOT HOT!"

It was only a little after noon.

* * *

England had gone into ultra cleaning mode. The house reeked cleanliness, but the island nation had yet to stop washing windows and vacuuming floors. As for food, if there was one thing he could cook (the only thing, really), it was pork. A ham and a multitude of pork chops were cooking at the moment.

Britain absentmindedly scrubbed a window that was already so clean that it almost appeared there was no window there. He had been contemplating what Flying Mint Bunny said earlier.

"Bloody frog…"

_ I have not loved him since we were children! Well….maybe when I was Britannica and he was Gaul and I was under the impression that he was a girl…he made a very pretty girl…..NO! BAD ENGLAND! STOP THINKING THOSE THOUGHTS!_

_ Gay marriage is going to be legal here by the twenty ninth of March…._

England scrubbed harder at the window, glaring out of it. "I am the goddamn country of Great Britain. Love is not an option –" He stopped, gaping at his reflection. "L-love?!"

England could practically hear the smirk on Flying Mint Bunny's face in the other room.

* * *

"Welcome, Happy Christmas, and if you break anything, you're looking at a war with the former British Empire," England said grudgingly to the Vargas brothers, who had just arrived.

"Yes, thank you England~!" Italy babbled. Romano elbowed him.

"Shut up!" he said, sounding pissed. Then again, Romano always sounded pissed. He glared at Britain. "Yeah, we won't break anything. Now let us in! It's fucking cold out!"

"Romano! Be nice!" Italy scolded. His brother rolled his eyes and pushed past England into the house. Italy looked sad. "Sorry about Romano. He's been angrier than usual lately. Maybe he needs more sleep? I don't know…."

"It's fine," England grouched. "Did you bring a dish?"

"Pasta~!"

"I should have known….."

"Oh! England! Is Germany here yet?" Italy looked at him with wide, innocent eyes.

"He arrived a little while ago, and in a foul mood too," Britain answered.

"West can't handle my awesomeness!" a loud voice from inside the house shouted, followed by a crash.

"Prussia! If that was anything important, I'm going to poison your food!" England yelled right back.

"You're no fun, and your un-awesomeness is polluting my mind! Besides, I can totally take you in a war!"

"You weren't the nation that ruled a quarter of the globe at one point in history!"

"England?" Italy said, oblivious. "Big Brother called a little while ago to tell us to tell you that he was almost here."

Italy ducked inside before giving Britain a chance to retort. He narrowed his eyes and slammed the door.

"America!" he called, hoping the large nation could hear him. "America! I need a favor!"

"Dude! I've been looking for you everywhere!" the annoyingly bright voice said. America popped his head into the hallway and beamed at England. "You don't have much cheese here. I need some for my burgers, and I can't find any."

"Cheese? I have cheese," England grumbled, already in a bad mood. "I have a lot of cheese. I have a fucking dancing _plethora _of cheese."

America raised his hands, palms outward, in apology. "Dude –"

But England was on a roll. "I have an ARMY of cheese. My cheese could march on your cheese's cheese empire, kill the cheese men and kidnap the cheese women and cheese children. I could take my armada of cheese and take over the world, and no rebellious little cheese colony could stop me!" He began to laugh maniacally.

"What was that about a favor, Artie?" America asked nervously.

"Oh. Right," Arthur cleared his throat. "Can you tend to the door until the frog arrives?"

"Why, dude?"

"Because…..just do it!"

"Fine, fine. But you really need to work on your arguing skills."

England waved him off. He needed to hand out his gifts to the other Allies and Axis Powers that had arrived anyway. He dashed up the stairs, zipped back down, and thrust Alfred's gift into his arms.

"Happy Christmas," he mumbled.

"Whoa, thanks, dude! I didn't think you were going to get me anything. You were pretty pissed when I told you yesterday 'bout hosting the party.

"You're welcome, you're welcome," England muttered. "I really have to go hand out the other presents now…"

Making his way through the parlor, Britain eventually tracked down Germany and Italy, who were talking to each other. Or, rather, Italy was spouting random bits of Italian trivia and Germany was almost-but-not-quite listening.

"Happy Christmas." Arthur smiled slightly as Feliciano tore off the wrappings immediately and screamed "PASTA!"

England noticed Germany about to open his gift as well, and shook his head slightly, mouthing, "Not in front of Italy." Ludwig looked confused, but went with it. Arthur left him and the overexcited Italy ("Lookwhathegotmeisn'tthisamazingit'sPASTAGermanyPASTA!") to hunt down – he shuddered at the thought – Russia. Lucky for him, the largest country in the world was busy smothering a blushing China, so that allowed Britain to drop two gifts and avoid all creepy purple auras. Next was Japan, who sat on the couch with his headphones on, playing on his DS. England then almost forgot about Canada's gift (who was hiding amongst the coats from Cuba, who had mistaken him for America once again) but luckily remembered at the last second. That saved him from an embarrassing situation and quite possibly the wrath of a large quantity of North America.

England then quickly snuck back to the front door to check up with America. "Has the frog shown up yet? It's nearly eight," he hissed, he face showing anxiety.

"No, not…..hey! I think that's him!" America pointed at two figures in a car driving up. "And the other one is Spain, I guess. Oh, I told Romano that I'd tell him when the Spanish guy arrived…hey! Romano! ROMANO! Shit, what's that guys human name again? Um….LOVINO! LOVI!"

"What do you want, you fat ass bastard?!"

"Your boyfriend is here!"

"Antonio is not my fucking boyfriend, you son of a bitch!"

"He is so totally his boyfriend," America rolled his eyes at England. "They've been dating for _years_ and keeping it 'secret' from everyone."

"Oh." Well, that was news to Britain. Could it be….? Could Alfred's espionage finally triumphed his own…..? No, it couldn't be. America just got lucky, that's all.

"Hey, British dude?" America waved his hand in front of Arthur's face. "What was all that earlier about not wanting to see France? Cause he's coming up the steps right now."

"Bollocks!"

England hastily retreated down the hall where he couldn't be seen but had a decent view of the door. There was a loud, solid knock, and America opened the door with a smile.

"_Bonjour, Amerique._ Where is _Angleterre_?"

Ugh. The Frenchiness of it was enough to make England puke.

"Hey guys!" chirped Alfred. "Yeah, Artie ran off." Was it just England's imagination or did France's eyes slightly narrow when America called him that? "He had to use the 'lava-tory' or something."

"_Merci. Joyeux Noel."_

"Yeah, Merry Christmas to you too! Or how do you say it, Antonio…um….'feliz navida?'"

"_Si_."

England sighed softly in relief as France brushed by his hiding place without noticing him. When the coast was clear, he stepped out…..

…just to be run over by Romano.

"You bastard!" he screamed at Spain, angry tears in his eyes. "You said you'd be here by eight! And you WEREN'T! You lying, cheating, son of

a - "

Antonio held a finger to his lips, smiling. "Now, now, France was just helping me pick out a _very _special Christmas present for you!"

"A…..present? For me?" Lovino looked dazed for a moment, then grew angry again. "You told France!"

"He's known!"

"How?!"

"He's the bloody country of love. He knows these things," England spoke up. Spain and Romano looked at him. "And really. Even _America_ knows about it by now." He decided not to tell them he had just found out.

"That's only because he was listening in on Germany's calls," grumbled Lovino.

"Well, I agree with Arthur," Spain said. "Not to mention France is my _numero uno _best friend."

"What about me, you ungrateful fag?"

"Shut the fuck up, Prussia!"

"Geez, I'm sorry!"

"Damn Gilbert and his selective hearing," Spain grumbled. Then, brightly, "Hey, England, Francis just went looking for you."

"I don't want to see him," Britain said flatly, the same feeling of dread filling his stomach.

"Well, that's just too bad. He even got you a Christmas present," Antonio said, shoving Arthur into the living room, where many of the guests congregated.

"Elizaveta, I said I was sorry!" Prussia cried on the floor as Hungary stood over him with her skillet in her hands and a look of fire in her eyes.

"I don't care! You don't call _anyone_ a fag, especially one of your friends!" she screamed.

"Francis! Save me!"

Britain turned white. He caught sight of France, making his way towards Hungary. The island nation still held the frog's gift in one trembling hand. He raised it slowly, taking careful aim at the long haired blonde.

"Hey FRANCE!" Arthur yelled over the commotion of the crowd. "Happy fucking Christmas!"

He chucked the package as hard and as fast as he could towards Francis's (beautiful) head.

* * *

"I can't believe it knocked him unconscious!"

"_Amigo_, you sound much too happy. You could have hurt him."

"How do you know that that wasn't my intent?"

"If it was, it was a very un-awesome intent."

"I don't care about its levels of awesomeness, what happened was bloody hilarious."

"Fell down like a stone, dude. Didn't even yell or cry out or anything. He was out cold before he hit the floor."

"Wait! He's coming around! Romano, don't you –"

England contained his giggles as France awoke to an icy cold glass of punch being poured, no, not splashed, but _poured_ onto his face, He jolted up, spluttering.

"_Mon Dieu,_ what happened?"

Britain's smug smile froze in place. That _voice._ That stupid, sexy French voice.

"Señor Surefire here launched _this _at your head," Spain said sarcastically, holding a wrapped, slightly dented box. England grabbed the box from Spain and hugged it to his chest protectively.

"And why would _mon petit lapin _wish to give me a concussion?" France asked, bewildered, and disconcerted. "I've been staying away from…..oh. Hello there, Arthur." He gave a brilliant smile, making Arthur melt on the inside. Melt like a stick of butter accidentally thrown into the roaring fire while attempting to make some biscuits. _That _type of melting, and it felt wonderful.

And yet, England's response was to grumble, "One reason is the fact that you call me your little rabbit."

"Nuh uh!" Prussia shook his head. "Francey pants told me that 'lapin' is French for 'bitch'."

"You led Gilbert to believe that you were calling me your little bitch?" Britain asked incredulously.

"I am admitting nothing."

"Why you…" England growled, clenching and unclenching his hand.

"_Angleterre, _at least let us exchange gifts before attempting to murder me again," France said playfully, rubbing the back of his head, which was beginning to bruise. Seemingly from out of nowhere, he pulled a long wrapped box. "And, of course, you will grant me the honor of receiving your weapon of choice for the night?"

England heard America snicker, but didn't particularly care. He hesitantly gave up the box in exchange for the heavier one, which he carefully opened (to reuse the wrapping paper later).

A bottle of wine.

A bottle of wine…..with a stuffed frog dangling on its neck.

Flustered, England averted his gaze from France's and muttered, "Stupid frog."

"Ohonhon, but you _like _it and that is what's important!" Francis laughed.

By this time, the argument was losing the interest of its spectators. Alfred was on the hunt for the army of cheese Britain claimed he had, Prussia went to bother Austria while avoiding Hungary, and Romano and Spain left to do who-knows-what in a closet (because if you had listened closely, the two Europeans nation could be making love, making cookies (yes, _cookies_ with a real oven and everything) or anything in between. Choosing to ignore the moans and occasional 'ding!', England uncorked the wine and started drinking straight from the bottle. "I like the _wine_," he stressed, already feeling a little tipsy.

France got to his feet and unwrapped his present. He smiled at the scarf, lace designs sewed in.

"Very British, but I suppose it'll have to do," he chuckled.

"Whaddya mean, _very Briddish_?" Arthur slurred.

"I mean your present is actually a scarf from England."

"Well, isint dis wine from you?" It was getting harder to understand Arthur by the second.

"Not exactly," France looked uncomfortable. "That's rum. Not wine."

England eyes would have widened and he would have spit out the alcohol in his mouth, if not for the fact he was so intoxicated that he had started singing, "I see London, I see France, I see Romano's cookie shaped underpants!"

France now realized his mistake. It was clear that England had had enough champagne to cloud his taste buds but not fully penetrate his mind. And rum….he might as well have bashed the Englishman over the head, for the effect it was having on him. _I knew England can't hold his liquor….._

"Hey Franzis…"

"_Oui_?"

England's eyes were sparkling mischievously, though still clouded with alcohol. "Sleep with me."

"WHAT?!" France's voice went up an octave. The very drunk Britain tugged on his arm and started dragging him upstairs.

"_A-angleterre_!" France yelped. He didn't want this. Or, rather, he didn't want this with an inebriated Arthur. And definitely not with England dragging him into the bedroom, locking the door, ad _pouncing _on him.

"Hey!"

"This is what you want, right?" purred England, un buttoning his shirt. "Franze who has forever been in love with me….Franze who I'll never love back…"

"You're drunk. You don't mean that," Francis objected, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice. He tried to scoot out from under Arthur and only succeeded in making the British man hold on tighter.

"Of courze I do," Britain leered at France. "And iz your own fault for gettin' me _rum_. And then letting me _drink _it."

_ Yes, yes it was, _France's inner voice chided him.

"How did you even know I loved you?" France said softly, giving up on the escape attempt for now. "All I ever did was make you hate me even more. No matter what I did." His voice cracked a little. A hand touched his cheek, drawing patterns with his fresh tears.

England had stopped straddling him and gotten off. Now he sat next to Francis, drawing pictures with the steady rain that fell from his eyes.

"_Angleterre_."

"What? Did'ja change your mind?" Francis's heart broke a little.

"_Non_. That is meant to only be shared by _two _people who love each other very much," France sighed.

Arthur bit his lip. He really wanted that, to show the Frenchman the dominant one, but he didn't want to lie and say that he loved France.

Worse, he didn't want to tell the truth and tell France he loved him. Not that he'd believe him anyway.

"Well, if I can't _zleep _with you, then what am I zupposed to do?"

France looked at him with sad, blue eyes. "We could sleep together. Not have sex, but rest together and fall asleep."

"That'z no fun…."

France looked at him, England's shirt half off and that _perfect _body in the moonlight. He desperately wanted to give Arthur what he wanted, but he knew he would regret it in the morning. More than Christmas gifts would be flying at Francis's head when England woke up.

And that was it. How would Britain feel to have done _that _with France the night before Christmas?

"You can…you can….." France struggled to get the words out, his heart pounding like wild. "You can t-t-_touch _me, but nowhere lower than the waist."

"Can I kiz you?"

"…only if you want to."

"Well, I want to," England turned France's face toward him and kissed him on the lips, slowly, with France's eyes wide open. When they finally broke apart, he was smiling.

"_Merci_. _Je t'aime, Angleterrre._"

He promptly fell down on the bed, exhausted. Britain looked at him in shock.

"Franzis! That'z no fair to actually fall _azleep_!"

Arthur huffed and lay down in the bed next to Francis, not even bothering to finish taking his shirt off. An evil smirk broke out on his face. As long as Francis was asleep, Arthur could do whatever he wished. Slowly, carefully, he pressed kisses down France's neck, earning a twitch from the long haired nation. With his hands, he slipped them under France's shirt, and he began to play with his nipples. A breathy moan was heard.

Francis smiled in his sleep.

* * *

**And there you have it. Chapter Two! It has over 4000 words...my brain is tired.**

**To answer some questions you might have(I know I did):**

**-England's rant about cheese was inspired by Dane Cook's 'Nothing Fights', where at one point he's deciding whether he should get one cheese or four cheese. I don't know if the video I watched is still up, though.**

**- America knows about Lovino and Spain because he was listening in on Italy's call to Germany. This is based off of that incident that happened where the US government was listening in on Germany's citizen's cell phone conversations. I IN NO WAY SUPPORTED THAT, AND WAS QUITE HAPPY WHEN IT WAS OVER. So...I incorporated recent history into this! Yay!**

**-When France was just revived, he didn't notice Arthur even though Spain gestured at him and called him 'Senor Surefire', simply because he had just woken up from getting hit in the back of the head with a present.**

**-The gift from France was based off of this picture by the lovely **ephemeralDELUSION **on Deviantart. Here's the link: ** spottedmask77 .deviantart art/APH-Contest-FrUk-154018157 **Take out the sapces and all that fun stuff! Go look at the picture! NOW!**

**- I don't know how Arthur was able to have his mind but not be able to tell the difference between wine and rum. Al I know is that somehow I had to make it work. So let's forget about that little whoopsie for now, da? **

**-Why yes, you have seen Arthur drunk in the Hetalia anime before, but not DRUNK drunk(the second level of intoxication). When our good friend England is DRUNK drunk, he turns into an OOC bastard(a _horny _OOC bastard). Believe me, this Arthur is most likely not appearing in this fanfiction again. Though I will admit he was fun to write! ;)**

**- France is acting like that because he had other things on his mind, stuff to do with Antonio and Lovino. And no, he wasn't wondering what they were doing in the closet. It was something else. All shall be revealed in due time! **

**I think that's all. Reviews, favorites, alerts, and follows are love! And Happy Holidays!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Merry Christmas!**

**Disclaimer: Because I would totally be writing fanfiction if I owned Hetalia.**

* * *

England woke up to a massive hangover, the smell of something delicious wafting up from the kitchen, and no memory of the night before after he had started drinking the alcohol France got him. He groaned, turned over in bed, and covered his head with his pillow.

Oh yes. And, of course, the fact that it was Christmas.

But, just for now, he focused on the fact that someone was cooking. Captain Hook had tried it once, but that had proved difficult with only one hand. Arthur assumed it could only be his furry, flying rodent friend.

"Flying Mint Bunny!" he called as loudly as he could without worsening his head ache. "What have I told you about - "

It wasn't Flying Mint Bunny in the kitchen.

It wasn't even anyone magical.

It was _France_.

"You!" England paled. "What….what are you doing here?!"

"I don't take pleasure in deserting the person that made me cuddle with them all night," France answered, flipping a crepe. England gaped at him, and France smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Do you remember anything?"

"N-no! I started drinking the wine, and then….and then…."

"It's probably for the best," Francis sighed.

"So I can't…..and hopefully _won't _remember what you did to me?"

"So you can't and hopefully won't remember what _you _did to _me_."

"I didn't do anything!" Arthur denied, flushing scarlet.

"The hickey says otherwise." Francis pulled down his shirt – he was wearing a turtleneck, now Britain knew why – to reveal a purple mark on his neck.

"No way," England blanched.

"You were drunk."

"Not from champagne and wine."

"_That wasn't wine_," France said deliberately. "I gave you rum. As a prank."

"A…..prank."

"_Oui_."

"And now you have a hickey. Which, according to you, came from me."

"Apparently so."

"….fuck."

"It's not my fault you have a low alcohol tolerance," France argued as Britain sunk into his chair, head in his hands. The country of love brought out a plate and put the crepe on it.

"Why are you still here?" England sulked, looking up to glare at Francis. "I wouldn't have known about any of this if you had flown back to where you belong.

"Ahh," France looked uncomfortable. "Therein lies the problem."

England felt that sinking feeling again, the one that warned him that France was going to say something he _really _didn't like.

"I missed my flight last night, as I was….occupied. This morning, I called to see if I could reschedule, and the airline told me that all flights out of London are to be stopped for the next two weeks or so." France sat down and massaged his temples.

"Why?!"

"My dear _Angleterre, _no one in their right mind would fly a plane in this weather."

"Alfred would."

"The key words are 'in their right mind.'"

"…point taken," England sighed. "But why are you _here_? Here as in my house? Can't you go to a hotel or something?"

"What did you want me to do, Arthur? Steal your car?"

"Why don't you just drive yours?"

"….Spain stole it."

England opened his mouth, then closed it. France was silent as well, watching Arthur pick at his crepe.

"I'm not eating anything you made me," England decided. "Especially not something with such a weird shape. What is that supposed to be, anyway?"

"_That_," France gestured at the food laying in front of England. "Is a partridge. And _that_," He gestured at England now, grinning. "Is a pear tree."

"Did you just call me a tree?" England asked irritably.

"You have pears," Francis pointed out.

"Pray tell, _where do I have pears_?!"

"Here." France pointed at Arthur's cheek, which burned brightly. "Here." He bent down to touch Arthur's ankle. "And here." He pulled up Britain's shirt just enough to reveal a Sharpie drawing of a pear on his stomach.

The island nation glared at him. "You are a sick, sick Frenchie."

"Ohonhon~! Just eat your crepes!"

Arthur 'harrumphed' and went to work slicing the breakfast up. "Happy Christmas, by the way."

"Mm? Oh, _oui_! _Joyeux Noel _to you as well!" France smiled.

Britain finished his crepes slowly, neither of the European countries saying a word as he did. Finally, he put the last scrap of the admittedly delicious breakfast in his mouth. He pursed his lips, trying to avoid eye contact with France.

"Hey…..Francis?"

"_Oui_?"

"We didn't do… we didn't do _that _last night, did we?" Arthur's face burned.

"_Non_," France chuckled. "Not to say you didn't do your best to persuade me."

England felt his face drain of all color. "_You _wouldn't let _me_?" _How drunk was I?_ He forced a laugh. "That seems strangely ironic."

France was quiet.

"And don't call me 'Arthur,'" England snapped suddenly, desperate to end the awkward silence.

France looked up. "Why ever not?"

"I don't know," he hmphed. "It's too intimate."

"_Angleterre._ It's a sign of close friends."

"Well, that is something _we _are obviously not!"

"Drunk Arthur was saying something different last night~!"

"Shut up! What did I just say?!" England threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Well, how come you can call me 'Francis?'" said nation pouted.

"Because it sounds _so bloody close _to the name of your country. Honestly, I say 'Francis' when I say 'this is all _France's _fault' and '_France is _going back home _today_!"

"But _Angleterre….._"

"Shut up. We're going to the airport."

* * *

"Hello, and how may I help you today?" an attendant asked.

"One ticket to France, please. Anywhere is fine," Arthur said briskly, keeping one eye on France, who was sitting not that far away.

"I apologize, sir. All flights to and out of London have been postponed until at least the sixth," the man apologized.

"Oh," Arthur said softly. "Thank you anyway." He gloomily trudged back over to where France was sitting. "The flights are all cancelled."

"_Vous l'a dit_."

"Sorry, I don't speak frog, Britain rolled his eyes. Francis quirked an eyebrow, and a smug grin overtook his face. "We'll see."

"What do you – "

"_Seulement je peux rendre le pays d'Angleterre gémir comme il le fait. C'est un progrès assez simple, d'abord je enlever sa chemise et embrasse chaque pouce de lui, et lentement mes doigts commence à glisser vers le bas en -" _

"SHUT THE FUCK UP." England was blushing profusely; some of the red had traveled down his neck, and it spread up to his eyebrows and out through his ears as well.

"_Desole_, I was misinformed that you could not understand nor speak French," Francis mock-apologized.

"**Never say those those words again.**"

"I shall do my best~!"

Arthur sighed, the red not fading. "You are going to stay in a hotel."

"_Non_," Francis said simply.

"What do you mean, no?!" England asked, irked. France shrugged.

"I brought no money with me. I suppose that was rather _idiot_* of me. I suppose I'll just have to stay at a friend's house." His eyes twinkled, and he put on a thoughtful expression. "Now, who do I know who lives in England…..?"

Britain wisely chose to ignore that comment.

"_Angleterre_~!"

"Leave me alone! I'm taking a shower!"

"You aren't dirty, are you?"

"I'm trying to scrub these bloody pears off of me!"

"Oh. In that case, may I join you?"

The door to the bathroom opened just long enough for France to glimpse a furious England (sadly with a towel around his waist), and for the blonde man to fling a container of soap at him, before slamming the door shut.

"It was just teasing," France later complained. "Was that _really _necessary?"

"Yes," Arthur answered curtly. "And I still couldn't get the pears completely off."

"I guess that means you'll be my pear tree for the day!" Francis clapped his hands together happily.

"But was there any real reason to doodle all over me?" England huffed.

"I thought I would do something special. A _real _Christmas present, especially since you're letting me stay here for awhile."

"By drawing pears on me?"

"First of all, I only drew three. Second, I thought you were smarter than this, Arthur," France teased. "The carol originated in _your _country, after all. 'On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me –"

"You're not my true love!" England shouted.

"Deny it all you want, it won't change the fact that you love me!"

_Damn it! How does he know? _England clenched his fist, his own words mocking him. _'He's the bloody country of love. He knows these things.'_

"But in all seriousness, I am quite sorry about the Christmas prank," France said guiltily. "So not only is this your Christmas present, it's also mine and Jacques's way of apologizing to you."

"Jacques…..?"

"The hickey."

"Are you fucking kidding me," Britain managed to keep himself from strangling the Frenchman.

"_Non_."

"I don't want you naming your hickeys. I don't want you talking about them. If you bring up….._Jacques_, then you can go freeze in the streets."

"You are very cruel, _Angleterre_. Do you mind that I've already told Gilbert?" France asked innocently.

"YOU DID WHAT?!"

Britain was not sorry to say that he gave into temptation, and dived across the room to choke Francis.

"As I was saying, before we got distracted," France began, seated at a table with Arthur. They scourged London for a restaurant opened on Christmas, as Arthur refused to eat any more French food and France refused to eat any of Arthur's cooking in general. "If I am staying with you, I might as well make use of it."

England glared daggers at him. "Just as long as there are no more _Jacques'_."

"Shouldn't I be the one angry about that?" Francis inquired lightly.

England crossed his arms. "So your gift is something for the twelve days of Christmas?"

"So you're avoiding the question?"

"Am not!"

"_Angleterre_, it could not be more obvious."

"Fine. So maybe I am," Britain huffed.

"And why would that be…..?" France asked.

England was quiet. _I will not break down! No! Not in front of him!_

"France, have you ever done something you really, really regretted?" England hated the fact that his voice cracked.

"…..many things," France finally said. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just…..nothing," England muttered as their waiter brought out their food. He had ordered a large mushroom soup, while Francis had immediately chosen the ham and cheese croissant. The same Frenchie had gotten quite aggravated when the waiter insisted on pronouncing the 'r' in it, and Arthur had had to explain that Francis knew more about France than the waiter _possibly _could.

"_Non, ce n'est certainement pasrien,_" France said worriedly, slipping into French accidently.

"Listen, I just don't to talk about it right now," Britain said harshly.

"Okay, okay," France murmured.

"Let's just forget about that for now," England sighed. "How have you been? I haven't seen you outside world meetings that often."

France immediately cheered up, and started talking about how the economy wasn't perfect, but you know, it was at least better than America, right? England only half listened, focusing more on how nice France looked when he smiled and how nice this whole experience was.

"So then I said –" France chatted, pausing as the waiter came back with the check.

"Thank you," England said automatically, handing him his credit card.

"_Angleterre_?"

"What?"

"You seem distracted," France said worriedly.

"Oh. Yeah," England said sullenly. "Listen, I'll tell you when we get back, okay?"

"Okay. I guess."

"_Angleterre_. You have to tell me what's wrong," France pressured as Britain unlocked his front door.

"Hmm, I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that _I slept with you last night_?!" Arthur said sarcastically.

"But that's all we did! Sleep!" France protested. "Well, all I did anyway…."

"Don't go blaming this on me! You were the one who gave me the rum, weren't you?!"

"I said I was sorry!"

England took in a shuddering breath. "I really don't want to talk about this."

"Well, we don't have to."

"_Ever_."

"Fine with me," France shrugged. England was shocked; was he really not pushing the issue. "Besides, you haven't even opened your other presents yet."

"Other presents?" Arthur asked faintly.

"You didn't think you just got drawn on for Christmas?" Francis fake-gasped. "The others got you something too!"

"Really?"

"They left it under your tree, as you were…" France trailed off. "….well, let's go see what you got, anyhow!"

With much grumbling on England's part, they managed to open the gifts. Some under the tree were addressed to France as well (which both of them chose to not discuss _why_), so they were able to compare and snicker at the other's presents.

"Movies from America?"

"_Disney _movies, _Angleterre_. You see, I got Beauty and the Beast as well as The Hunchback of Notre Dame."

"…..I got The Sword and the Stone and….and…and Cinderella."

"Ahh, a classic love story."

And so on.

Eventually, the two nations realized that the time had flown by, and it was time for dinner. England's stomach did not simply growl; it practically yelled and cussed at him.

"Hungry much?" France stifled his laughter.

"Shut up," Britain glared at him.

"Well, we aren't going out again. I am going to cook for you," Francis declared.

"I don't _want _French food."

"Who said anything about French food?"

England gave him a look of surprise. "I assumed –"

"Wrongly. You assumed wrongly," France started to leave the room. "You have some game in the fridge?"

"Have you been poking through my food while I was asleep?"

"How else was I going to make breakfast?"

"How dare you use logic to justify your poking around," England heaved a sigh. "It's partridge."

France's eyes gleamed. "Perfect."

"This actually works out quite nicely. I wasn't sure if a partridge-shaped crepe was going to do the carol justice," France said to England. "Now eat up!"

"So this is going to be your partridge in a pear tree?" England said suspiciously.

"Well, technically, it _will _be inside you," France shrugged. "And like I said, it was originally just going to be the partridge-shaped crepes."

"….frog."

"_Tais-toi et manger votre dîner."_

England crawled into bed (fully clothed, as a precaution) exhausted. It had been a long, tiring day. Spent with _France._ But, for once, he didn't feel disgust or hatred.

Arthur felt _happy_.

Charles Dickens might have been right. Perhaps Christmas wasn't such a bad holiday after all.

* * *

**_idiot _****- idiotic**

**I would translate the rest of the French to English, but I really don't feel like it. So...Google Translate or something! :D**

**I hope you had a Merry Christmas!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Date: The second day of Christmas(December 26th)**

**Hope that you had a wonderful Christmas!**

**Disclaimer: Because I would totally be writing fanfiction if I owned Hetalia.**

* * *

There was something warm next to England. It was drafty in his home, and he often had to compile all the blankets of the house to reach a sufficient level of warmth. The number of blankets he now slept with were cut in half, however, as Arthur was obligated to give France some blankets so that he would not freeze to death in the guest bedroom. Britain went to bed shivering on Christmas Day. Happy, but shivering.

But now there was something – or rather, _someone_ – warm next to him. He snuggled closer on instinct, hugging the body that seemed to burn compared with his freezing skin. The person groaned, and England slowly opened his eyes, afraid of who he would see.

France.

Not that it could have been anyone else, of course, but Britain disregarded logic as he let out a blood curdling screech in surprise. He reached over and shoved Francis(along with most of the blankets) out of the bed.

"What the HELL are you doing here?!" England shrieked.

"Ahh," France said carefully. "I was cold."

"THAT ISN'T A REASON TO SNEAK INTO MY BED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION, ESPECIALLY WITH ME IN IT! YOU _PERVERT_!"

"Hey, you were shivering too," Francis objected, and England detected a note of hurt in his voice. "Not to mention you were talking in your sleep."

Arthur paled. This could be very bad. "T-talking in my sleep?"

"_Oui_," France replied, rubbing the back of his head where he had fallen. "You were muttering things like 'I can't love him.' Who can't you love?"

"I….." For once, Britain was speechless. "No one. It was probably all just a dream."

France looked doubtful, a difficult feat from the floor. "I guess so." He observed England's face, which was approximately the same pigment as a tomato. "You've been blushing a lot, _Angleterrre_."

"Well, how am I supposed to know what you did to me in my sleep on Christmas Eve and yesterday?" Britain yelled.

"I told you already, Christmas Eve was _your fault_. And even if I _did _do something to you, there would be significant differences. For one, you would be much less angry!" France huffed. "And the sheets would probably be stained."

"THESE SHEETS ARE GOING TO BE STAINED WITH YOUR BLOOD!"

"Ow! It was a joke!" Francis dove under the bed as Arthur grabbed a nearby book on his bed stand and chucked it at his head.

"Shut up!"

"Why are you so crabby, _Angleterre_?" _And how are you this awake in the morning? _"I mean, it's the second day of Christmas!"

England fell down face first into his bed. "No, it isn't," he mumbled into his pillow. "It's January 7th. You can go now. I'll even drive you."

"Silly _Angleterre_," France got off the floor, completely awake now. He walked over to the side of England's bed (thank God he was wearing pants) and tugged on his arm, dragging the island nation out of bed.

"Let go of me!" England shouted.

"_Non_, there is something special for today," France chuckled, dragging Arthur down the stairs, earning many a cry of pain from him and swears galore. "You know what turtle doves symbolize, correct?"

"No, I don't, now LET ME GO."

"You've never seen Home Alone 2?" France said, surprised.

"It's a bloody American movie, of course I haven't!" England snapped.

"It's also a Christmas movie. And quite funny at that," France said thoughtfully. "One of the better American movies…..hmm. Wait here."

"By the Queen, no!" England yelled.

"I am quite sure Elizabeth II does not mind you spending some quality time with your ally," Francis argued cheerfully. "I am going to go out to rent the movies, and buy some ingredients for breakfast."

"I thought you said Spain stole your car," England said, a bit nervous.

"_Oui_. I hope you do not mind me borrowing you car for a half hour or so," Francis said gleefully, dangling England's keys from his pointer finger. "_Au revoir!_"

The door slammed shut before Arthur could yell even more.

* * *

_Since he's gone, might as well make use of the time, _Arthur thought to himself dully. _Prepare myself for America's twisted sense of humor and all._

The British country curled up on his sofa, gnawing on an English muffin that did absolutely nothing to relinquish his hunger. He picked up an old DVD of a British comedy from the 70s. Shrugging, he chose a disc and popped it in.

The music started playing and Britain smiled softly. _This brings back memories. I remember when I showed this to Spain and he started pelting me with tomatoes…Romano helped him….ran me down, screaming 'Racist bastard!'….those were the days._

"Who's a racist bastard?" an amused voice snickered. England tumbled off the couch in surprise.

"Don't _do _that!" he grumbled. France smirked.

"Don't do what? Don't return your car?"

"Don't SCARE me!"

Oh. Oh, my. That came out wrong.

"Scary? _Moi_?" France gestured to himself. "You are sorely mistaken. I am not scary, you are simply easy to scare."

"I have nerves of steel, you arse," England grumbled, climbing back onto the couch. "How else would I have become the British Empire? You, on the other hand…"

"_Angleterre, _you know as well as anyone that I do not scare easily," France said, albeit a little tense.

"Name three times."

"One. Napoleon would have taken over the world."

"That's right; he was yours, wasn't he?"

"_Oui_. Two. Jeane….Jeane d'Arc."

Britain was silent. He tried not to notice the stray tear that slid down France's face. The Frenchman quickly recomposed himself, and with a bright smile continued.

"Three. My navy was the reason America won his revolution."

SMACK.

England looked in shock from his hand to the red mark on France's face.

"…ow. That hurt," Francis complained.

"I'm…..I'm s-sorry," Britain stuttered.

"_Non_¸ I shouldn't have brought up that topic," the other nation sighed. "Desole."

"…I'm also hungry," England muttered. France laughed.

"Here, you can put this in while I start making the blintzes with some of the crepes left over from yesterday," he grinned, handing England a DVD case marked Home Alone and another one marked Home Alone 2. He then proceeded to walk into the kitchen.

"I don't like cherries!" England said quickly.

"Good thing I have lots of blueberries and cheese, then!"

* * *

"That. Was. Bloody. Hilarious."

"_Vous l'a dit_."

"Yes, yes, I should have believed you. But really. To think something American could be _that _good," England chuckled.

"Maybe it's because you like watching people inflict pain on other people," France suggested.

"And the _paint_…..and he set his head on fire!" Britain snorted. "How can that _not _be funny?"

"Very true," France readily agreed. "How did you like the blintzes?"

"And when she tossed the birdseed on them – oh, yes, they were delicious," England answered off guard.

"Delicious?" Francis blinked at him.

"_Satisfactory_," England corrected. "They were fine, and my food is OBVIOUSLY much better, but it was okay."

"_Merci_."

"And will you stop speaking French?!"

"_Non._"

England sighed in exasperation. "I'm hungry again."

"_Angleterre, _you are just like a child," France laughed.

"S-shut up! You haven't even done anything for the second day of Christmas yet!" Britain objected.

"True," Francis admitted. "But I needed to make sure you knew what the turtle doves meant."

"Well, now I…oh," England trailed off. "But I'm not special to you."

"_Oui_¸ you are," Francis beamed. Digging around in his pocket, he pulled out two sparkling birds.

"Are those…..?" Britain asked hesitantly.

"_ ères de lacolombe_," France answered. "One for you, one for me."

"…"

"Do you wish to say something, _Angleterre_?"

"They were ornaments in the movie," Britain sulked.

"VOUS PLAISANTEZ. JE SUIS PASSÉ PAR TOUS LES ENNUIS POUR VOLER -" France ranted, before remembering that England could understand French. Said country's mouth was slightly opened. He closed it, and gulped.

"France."

"….._oui_?" Dread filled Francis's voice.

"Do you mean to tell me that you _stole _this for me?" Arthur's voice was quiet and deadly.

"'Steal' is such a strong word…." France began to say.

"Did you get caught?!" England asked angrily.

"_I _didn't get caught. _Gilbert _got caught," France smirked, pulling out a white wig and red contacts.

"…you really are a frog."

"Je t'aime aussi~!"

* * *

Later that day, after an early dinner (they had chosen to skip lunch), England sat in his desk chair, surfing the internet for other good American movies. So far he had discovered many that seemed interesting. Alfred was always jabbering on about some movie or another, but England chosen to ignore it. He had his Monty Python, right? He had his British soaps. He was perfectly content. Yet, American movies seemed more compelling now that France had made him watch two.

Arthur yawned and stretched, checking the time. _10:00PM?! What happened to the hours between 6 and 9?! WHO HAS DONE THIS?! WHO?! I HAVE JUST LOST 3 HOURS OF MY LIFE AND I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW!_

England rubbed his eyes. Maybe he just needed to sleep. Yes, sleep would help.

"Bloody frog better not sneak in again….." he muttered, brushing his teeth(Lord knows they needed it). "Perhaps I'll keep an atlas or two by my bed. And I won't miss next time!"

The island nation crawled into his bed. He heard France speaking in hushed tones over the phone in the next room, but didn't think much of it. Perhaps he was calling someone to get him, even though you would have to be a madman to drive to London through a snowstorm.

Time ticked away on the clock, and England found himself unable to sleep. He tossed and turned, cold, and the bed seemed so large and empty. Slowly he sat up in bed, the blanket wrapped around him. He could hear France softly snoring in the next room. Carefully, and avoiding most creaky floorboards, Arthur made his way into the guest bedroom where Francis slept. _He didn't look cold at all! How is that fair?! France is supposed to be _warmer _than England, and therefore he can't be used to this!_

Britain trudged over to the bed, sitting on the edge of it and making as little noise as possible. He looked at France, sleeping peacefully, and blushed.

_Stalker! You're a stalker! _the voice in his head sang. Britain blushed.

"I am not," he whispered to himself, caressing France's face. "It's not my fault he's so beautiful and it's so cold…"

Arthur made up his mind in a flash. Wrapping himself in his blankets like a cocoon, he crawled into bed next to France.

_ I'll just wake up early tomorrow and get out before he even know I was here,_ England thought to himself. _But for now, I sleep._

* * *

**Well, glad that's over with! Yes, I made France...I mean, ****_Gilbert_**** rob a store. For matching diamond turtle dove pins. France really loves England~!**

**It's still going to come back to bite him. I'm just warning you.**

**And yes. I DO use Google Translate to translate the English to French. Now you can too! Go translate, my minions!**

**Yes, I did just make France and England watch Home Alone 1 and 2(don't like the 3rd one). What's more, England ****_LIKED _****it.**

**A note on Britain surfing the internet and freaking out when he realizes that it's already 10PM: that is me. I have literally looked at the clock one minute, it read 10PM, and when I glance at it again it's 1AM.**

**WTF TIME? **

**Also. Nothing to do with the fanfictions, but go listen to these songs:**

**Europe's Skies - Alexander Rybak**

**Canadian Please - Gunnarolla and Honeychip**

**Seriously. Go on Youtube or something and listen to them!**

**Reviews, favorites, follows, and alerts are love! (I KNOW who has favorite and followed this. I ALSO know that over 150 people have looked at this. AND LET ME TELL YOU, I HAVE TO POST UP A NEW CHAPTER EVERY DAY AND I SURE AS HELL DIDN'T BOTHER TO TYPE THEM UP THE DAY BEFORE. All I'm saying is that it would be a little more rewarding if someone actually reviewed this. So...please? Or you can hit the backspace and pretend you never read the AN...)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Yes, this is late. But it is still technically the third day of Christmas!**

**Disclaimer: Because I would totally be writing fanfiction if I owned Hetalia.**

* * *

France wasn't in the bed when England woke up the next morning. This would have immediately sent him into a blushing, embarrassed, 'deny, deny, and keep denying' fit, if not for a new factor in the equation. That factor was a rooster. A rooster that sat on Britain's chest.

"CACKACKACKACKAAAAA!"

"OW!" England flinched and jumped at the sudden loud noise. Contrary to popular belief, roosters did _not _crow 'cockadoodledoo', as America had led so many to believe, but rather it sounded more like an untrained parrot on steroids.

The drug-pumped chicken promptly pecked the top of Arthur's head(which hurt like hell), jumped off of him, and took off running down the hallway.

"Bloody bird!" England yelled. He hopped out of bed and ran after it. Almost immediately he ran into an almost-invisible object. Falling with a cry, he glared up at…..was that _Canada?_

"Hi…." Matthew said hesitantly, offering a hand to help him up. "Sorry."

"What are you doing here?" Arthur asked in confusion. "How did you get here?"

Matthew looked uncomfortable. "Well, Michelle –"

A girl with dark brown hair and olive skin walked into the hallway. "I heard my name?"

"Seychelles?!"

Canada looked helplessly between the two islands. "I…..I…"

"What. The. Fuck. Is going on here?" England gritted his teeth.

"_Mathieu! Michelle!" _France's voice rang out from the downstairs. "_Est-Angleterre jusqu'à? J'ai entendu un accident, vous êtes d'accord?"_

"_Nous allens bien, Papa,_" Canada called back. He looked back to England guiltily. "Well –"

"_We_," Seychelles said brightly, grabbing Canada's neck in a choke hold/hug and dragging him down to her height. "Are two of the three French hens."

Arthur looked at them blankly. "But how did you get here?" he repeated.

"I have my own boat," shrugged Michelle. "Even though it took a heck of a long time to get from Seychelles to Canada then to England in one night…"

England's mouth hung open. He noticed the matching T-shirts that the two nations wore: a chicken wearing a beret. Faintly, he said, "So France put you up to this?"

"_Oui_," they answered in unison. England thought he was going to explode from the ridiculous amounts of French-ness around him.

"I'm going to find France," he said, remarkably calm. "And then I'm going to kill him."

"_NON!_" shouted Michelle, letting go of Canada to latch onto Arthur. "You can't!"

"Get off!"

"_Non, salaud!"_

"Let go!"

"Stop!"

The bickering countries froze as Matthew's voice was raised to a shout. They looked at him.

"Just…just stop, okay?" Canada sighed. "Papa is really trying to make you happy, England."

"Hmm? What is happening here?" France came up the staircase, smirking. "Could little _Matthieu _be yelling?"

"O_ui, Papa_," the second largest nation in the world said guiltily.

"Do not look so ashamed!" France laughed. "Maybe if you yell more, Cuba will finally remember you."

"That wasn't a yell," England objected. "That was merely louder than his usual whisper."

Seychelles and France glared at him.

* * *

"So you're the three French hens," Britain said thoughtfully.

"_Oui_."

_ Dear God, there are going to be many a French bodies if they don't stop speaking the bloody language._

"Even though only one of us would be a hen," France said, glancing at Seychelles. "But I am quite sure _Mathieu _and I could pass for women if we wanted to."

"Yes, if you shaved your bloody beard," England muttered. Seychelles shot him a look.

"Well, I think we should show him what we have in store for today," she said, eyes glittering.

"Yes," Canada agreed. "Is that alright, Arthur?"

"I haven't even finished my breakfast!" he complained. France snorted.

"_That _is a breakfast?"

"It's called a fucking English muffin, and yes, it is!"

"In what country?"

"ENGLAND, YOU IDIOT!"

"Oh, right, that odd nation across the Channel," France looked bemused. "I have heard he is quite unfriendly, despite his outwardly cute appearance."

"My…..what?" England felt that he should have been angry, yet couldn't find the energy. Off to the sides, Seychelles and Canada giggled. "Oh, shut it."

France swung his arm around Arthur's shoulders. "To London, then?"

Britain sighed. He supposed his breakfast wasn't that important, anyway. "To London."

* * *

The streets were slippery and it was freezing, but only one of the three French hens seemed bothered by the cold. Seychelles shivered, and she seemed to flinch every time a snow flake hit her. France glanced worriedly at her from time to time, but she put on a brave face and scowled every time Canada asked if she were alright.

Canada was doing fine himself. He had no Gulf Stream to warm his country, and he was as far north as England. He didn't slip on the small patches of ice as France did(which to Arthur had cackled and continued walking), instead he seemed to glide on it. It was to be expected, Matthew was famous for his hockey and such.

"So, where are you taking me?" England grumbled as the French hens encountered yet another dead end.

"We're _trying _to get you to the National Gallery. But we have seemed to take a wrong turn somewhere," France said, puzzled.

"Then why didn't ask me?" Arthur asked irritably. "I know London like the back of my hand. London might as well _be _the back of my hand!"

"We were going to surprise you," Canada said softly.

England sighed. "Well, if you're going to take me there, we might as well get there efficiently. What street is this, Duncannon? We're not too far off; the gallery is west of here."

After a bit of walking and a large chunk of money gone from the French hens' pockets(they all paid individually and chipped in to pay for Arthur), they stood in the gallery.

"So…..now what?"

* * *

It turns out asking a Canadian what to do is _never _a good idea. Matthew was more like his brother than anyone had realized, and eventually everyone had run out of the museum in a panic when he had spray painted a mustache on one of the portraits.

"What the FUCK, Canada?!" Seychelles had screeched once out of sight. "You could get us arrested!"

"But it was fun, wasn't it?" he said innocently. Never again would England call that face above suspicion again.

"I think I'm going to be sick," he made a face, and ran over to the nearest trash can.

"You see what you did?!"

"I said I was sorry, Michelle!"

England stood up, a foul taste in his mouth. "Where's….where's the frog?" he asked, a bit woozy.

"He went to go visit someplace near here or something," Seychelles said, who had started tugging on Canada's curl.

_ Where could he have possibly gone?_ thought England. Then, suddenly, he realized where.

"I'll be right back. I need to go find the other French hen," he explained quickly, then turned and walked away.

* * *

France was exactly where England had thought he would be.

The Academy of Notre Dame in London.

France looked up. "_Salut_."

"Don't give me any of that 'saloo' shit," England said angrily. "Why'd you run out on us? If we're going to get arrested, we might as well do it together."

France laughed. "I just wanted to see it."

"So there's some France in England," Arthur sighed. "Don't let it go to your head."

"Of course not."

In the end, Arthur didn't eat anything all day. Skipping breakfast and throwing up what remained of the previous night's dinner wasn't the ideal way of the third day of Christmas, but England had to admit avoiding the police the rest of the day was kind of fun. Not to mention Canada was ecstatic of Arthur admitting he would never forget him after this.

Michelle boarded her private luxury speed boat as Francis, Arthur, and Matthew waved her off.

"So you're part of the four calling birds?" Arthur raised an eyebrow. Canada shrugged. "What can you do?"

"_Au revoir, Michelle!_" France cried. Suddenly, England realized something.

"WAIT! COME BACK! CAN'T YOU TAKE FRANCE WITH YOU?!"

"Sorry, I can't hear you over the roar of the engine!"

Canada patted England on the back. "Michelle has that way with people. She'll tell people the way out of a solution, and they won't realize it until too late."

"Are you suggesting that I am a problem?" France raised an eyebrow.

"_Oui, Papa, je suis._"

* * *

**The chicken idea at the beginning was from **Moon the Eevee**.**

**Yes! We remembered Canada! And we gave him a backbone!**

**'Michelle' is a FAN name for Seychelles. I figured 'what the heck?' and went for it.**

**Reviews, favorite, follows and alerts are love! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Day four**

**Okay, I got three reviews AND I WAS SO HAPPY.**

**So I'd like to thank you officially. Thank you, **VelvetTiramisu **and **Shiralala**! Thank you so much! *hugs* I'd also like to thank all my followers and favouriters(?). I'll be posting your names tomorrow!**

**Disclaimer: Because I would totally be writing fanfiction if I owned Hetalia.**

* * *

Arthur Kirkland sat with a cup of tea in his hand, sipping it every so often to clear his head of sleep. He had just finished an enormous breakfast, all of which he ate due to no nourishment from the day before. Earlier, he had gotten a call from America telling him 'he was almost there'. Almost _where_, England wasn't sure, but he was quite sure that Alfred's means of getting there were dangerous.

"Just be careful," he had sighed, then set the phone down. He had then gone to check on France and Canada. The two were sleeping peacefully, each in their separate rooms, and England lingered for awhile where Francis slept. It was the only time when the Frenchman's hair wasn't perfect. The blonde locks were strewn everywhere, and they were tousled from France rolling around in his sleep.

It was cute, actually.

Britain had left the room after thinking that, not wanting anymore thoughts triggered by the sleeping Francis. And that was why he was in the kitchen currently, sipping tea. Soon enough, the phone rang again.

"Arthur Kirkland speaking," he said, setting down his drink. "May I ask whom is calling?"

"Dude, look out your window!"

"America?" England asked, recognizing the voice. "Why?"

"Just do it!"

Arthur glanced out the window and nearly had a heart attack. Circling over his spacious garden* was an American fighter jet. And positioned to land it was America.

"BLOODY HELL!" England shrieked. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. He was going to yell himself hoarse at some point. Currently, he wasn't worried about that.

A loud stumbling and a crash was heard from the stairwell. Suddenly, France appeared at his side.

"_Quel est le problème_?" he asked in a panic. England, mouth agape, pointed up at America landing the plane.

"Ah, yes. He said he was flying here," France said, almost to himself. "Idiot."

"For once, I agree with you," Arthur yelled. The roar of the plane's engine was giving him a headache. "I….I think I'm going to go upstairs."

"Fine with me!" France shouted in order to be heard.

England quickly made his way upstairs(and almost tripped over an unconscious Matthew on the stairs) and covered his ears with pillows.

"Dear God, I hate Americans….."

After America's plane was safely(England snorted at this) landed, Alfred walked in and sat down at the table while France went upstairs to get England. He didn't question why Francis was dragging Canada, or why Canada was unconscious and left in the stairs in the first place, but England did manage to get downstairs without a single rude comment.

The streak ended as he looked at America.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" he yelled. France held his arms as England made to attack America.

"He's one of the four calling birds," France said soothingly. "That would be Alfred, _Matheiu, _you, and _moi_."

"But why did you _fly_?!" England bit, yes, _bit _France to make him let go.

"Ow! That was not called for!" Francis grumbled, shaking his hand to relieve some of the pain.

"All flights in and out of London were cancelled. Haven't you been paying attention, dude?" Alfred shrugged.

England was turning purple, an unflattering color, so France decided to steer the conversation in a less violent direction.

"_Amerique_, you'll never guess what Canada did yesterday!" he said with false joy. "He almost got us arrested."

"Whoa, awesome!" Alfred looked at Matthew with a newfound awe. He started shaking him. "WHAT DID YOU DO?"

"Graffitied all over a painting," Britain scowled.

"NO WAY!" America yelled excitedly. He continued shaking the Canadian until France lightly hit him on the head.

"Stop that," he scolded. "He'll be traumatized enough when he comes around.

"You're no fun," America pouted.

"Maybe, but I have a very entertaining day planned for _Anglettere_," France's eyes gleamed. "Any moment now…."

The phone rang. England looked at it curiously, and picked it up.

"Hello?"

"_Bonjour_, Arthur. It's Matthew," a quiet voice said. England nearly dropped the phone.

"But you're _here_!" he exclaimed.

"That's one of my dummies," Canada explained. "They help throw Cuba off my scent when he thinks I'm America. Speaking of America, is he there yet?"

"_Yes_," England said venomously.

"Can you put him on?"

"Alfred, it's Canada," England shoved the receiver into his hands. "That's a dummy on the floor."

"Whoa, Mattie, you gotta teach me how to make me one…..what? Oh. Alright. Yeah, definitely," America began to nod. "Awesome. Yeah, I'll put him back on." He gave the phone back to Arthur.

"What?" England asked.

"You have to find me," Matthew said mischievously. "I'm calling with a hint. Here it is: _Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Thou art at the first place we met._"

"What?"

"Sorry, that's it. See you here!" Canada hung up. France looked at England with interest. "What did he say?"

"He quoted Shakespeare at me," England said thoughtfully. "Then he added a line."

"Which play?" asked America. France and England looked at him in surprise. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just…..you know some of his plays?" England said in shock.

"Yeah. He was really popular in my early years," America shrugged. "He wrote some pretty deep stuff."

"Yes. That is exactly how I would describe his works. Deep," Britain said sarcastically. "Canada quoted 'Romeo and Juliet' then said 'Thou art at the first place we met.'"

"Is that even correct Old English?" France asked, bemused.

"No," England narrowed his eyes. "But it makes it loads easier to understand. Canada is where Romeo and Juliet first met. In the play they met at Capulet's home. But I think that the statement has hidden meaning….."

"Hidden meaning how?" America asked, raiding the fridge.

"Put that down," England said, his tone tired. "Hidden meaning like it might not be where Romeo and Juliet literally met, but where the play was first performed."

"The Theatre?" France asked. "That was torn down hundreds of years ago."

"And the Globe was built in its place," Arthur said triumphantly. "Come on, we're going back to London today."

* * *

"You're so weird! Your steering wheel is on the wrong side and you drive on the wrong side of the road and why did France get shotgun?" America complained.

"Because you're acting like a bloody child!" England growled at the wheel.

"Are we there yet?"

"WE ARE NOT THERE YET!"

"Don't taunt the _Angleterre_," France murmured, a faint smile playing on his lips. "The _Angleterre _does not enjoy being taunted."

"Oh, put a sock in it."

Eventually the trio reached the Globe. Canada was waiting for them at the entrance.

"You figured it out," he said simply. Alfred bear hugged him.

"YOU VANDALIZED ARTWORK!" he squealed in delight.

"I spray painted a mustache on a rather unhappy looking man," Matthew said timidly.

"Sweet!"

"_Angleterre_, staring at them isn't going to make them catch on fire."

"Of course not! I need a spell for that."

"I think you're missing the point."

"Whatever. I'm going to the lavatory," England muttered. He saw the rest of his companions exchange a knowing look. "What?"

"Nothing!"

"_Rien_!"

Arthur sighed.

* * *

When he returned, he noticed someone missing. A loud, blue-eyed, fighter jet flying someone.

"Okay, where's America?" he said, tapping hid foot impatiently.

"Across the ocean, sir," a passerby gave him a quizzical look. England shot him a dirty one in return.

"Well, he should be calling soon," France checked his watch – a gift from Switzerland at Christmas. As if on command, England's cell started playing 'Born in the USA'.

"Hello, wanker."

"Artie, that's mean."

"Just shut up and give me the clue."

"_London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down, London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady_," America sang. "Now, I've got to go – some tourists are giving me a strange look."

"You are a tourist, you idiot."

"Okay, bye."

"Bye."

"WAIT."

"What?" England flinched at the sudden loud noise.

"Put France on."

"He wants you, frog," Britain grumbled, handing the cell to Francis.

"_Oui?_" France stood with his head cocked to one side. "_Oui, bien sur. Que voulez-vous dire que vous ne pouvez pas comprendre le francais? _I _said_, what do you mean you can't understand French? I claimed more of you than _Angleterre_ did originally, you know," France sighed. "Okay, fine, I'll speak English. Despite it being bland, stupid, and not romantic at all."

"I heard that, you twat."

"What makes you think I didn't want you to hear that?

"I repeat: twat."

_"Au revoir, Amerique!" _France cried, and snapped the phone shut. He handed it back to Britain. "What was the clue?"

"He sang 'My Fair Lady,'" Arthur said. "He's at London Bridge."

"Good. That isn't too far from here, is it?" Canada asked.

"Seven minutes," England answered. "And traffic isn't bad, so it shouldn't take long."

"Good, then let's be off, shall we?" Francis said cheerfully. "You and _Mathieu _can drive, but I think I'll take the London Underground, _oui_?"

"Fine with me," England agreed, The less time spent with France, the better.

"Aww, you got here so quickly!" America whined. "I bet Mattie had a ton more time!"

"It was actually pretty boring," Canada admitted. "And people kept walking into me."

"Well, then we're just going to have to go kick their asses, won't we?"

"There will be no arse-kicking while I'm around," Arthur declared. "I'm sure Francis agrees with – hey, where is he?" _He said he wanted to take the train….why isn't he here yet?_

"RIBBIT."

"What was that?" Alfred looked around. "A toad or something?"

"RIBBIT."

"That would be a call from a frog," England explained. He flipped open his cell. "'ello?"

"_Bonjour! Je suis hors visite Kate et le bebe. Oh, regardez, elle arrive maintenant! Bonjour, princesse Kate!"_ Athur heard a small scuffle in the background, as well as a 'Who is this, and how did he get in here? And why on Earth is he speaking French?' "_Je dois y aller! LACHEZ-MOI, VOUS SALAUD! Au revoir, mon amour!"_

France hung up. Arthur stared at his phone.

"What's wrong?" America asked.

"Did something happen to Papa?" Canada asked.

"Both of you, get in the car," England said tightly. "If I'm not mistaken, it sounds like the frog has gotten himself arrested."

* * *

They were lucky that Buckingham Palace was close to London Bridge. Arthur pushed past all of the guards, despite their efforts to stop him, and ran to the audience chamber where Queen Elizabeth II stayed during the tourist hours.

"My Queen!" he burst in, out of breath. "I…..just received a phone call…."

"Arthur, it is perfectly fine," she soothed. "This is about your friend Francis Bonnefoy, correct? Or should I say, France?"

"Yes….how did you know?" he asked, confused.

"I may be old, but your friend has quite the voice," she explained. "I could hear him from all the way here."

"Then where is he?"

"_Angleterre, _you do care_!"_ Arthur was tackled from behind by a certain Frenchman. Queen Elizabeth II laughed.

"He's quite the keeper," she winked.

"I…..I…." Britain blushed, then glared at France. "_We are going home._"

"Okay! _Au revoir, la reine Elizabeth!_"

* * *

"So Kate still doesn't know?" America snorted.

"She knows about me, and she knows OF the rest of you, but this is the first time she had ever met one in person, besides me," Arthur rubbed his forehead. "And it was not the ideal way to, either."

"What is not ideal about me?" France asked.

"Every. Bloody. Thing," England growled.

"_Angleterre_, you are cruel~!"

"I also don't give a fuck."

America laughed, then checked the time. "Oh, I've got to go back to the states! I guess I'll take off now!"

"Wait!" England wasn't going to let this chance slip out from under him like yesterday. "You can take Francis back to France!"

America sadly shook his head. "No can do, Artie. It's only a two person flyer."

"Yes, you and France make two people!"

"I need to take Mattie back to Canada."

"Well, can you come back tomorrow?"

"Sorry, there's a ton of urgent business going on. Gotta fly!"

"…..I seriously hate you right now," Arthur deadpanned.

"Hey, France," Arthur yawned later. "Do you remember anything happening yesterday?"

"Such as you sneaking into my bed?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Why didn't you say something earlier?" Britain asked, blushing slightly.

"Well, because I did not mind you sneaking in," Francis said. "Not to mention you would deny everything and become very irritable."

"I guess you're right…" Britain paced nervously, then glanced at France. "But it is rather cold in here."

"Do you want to sleep with me again?" France raised an eyebrow.

"Yes…..but don't say it like that," England said disapprovingly. "You make it sound so _dirty_."

"_Angleterre, _it is only your mind that makes my words dirty," France chuckled.

"What?"

"_Rien!"_

* * *

***garden - British term for backyard(I think. Google was my resource, and Google's always been a bit iffy)**

**Okay, today they got food. I just didn't feel like typing about their meal. Maybe tomorrow...**

**Yay! FACE family is a fun family!**

**ARTHUR! GO FACE YOUR FEELINGS LIKE A MAN!(Lol)**

**Reviews, favorites, follows, and alerts are love!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry that this chapter is later than usual! I had to get permission from **Anneliza **to use their words, and which they let me! THANK YOU! (Now, if you aren't **Anneliza, **go over and favorite them RIGHT NOW! And take a look at their stories; THEY ARE AMAZING!)**

**Also, I'd also like to thank **Moon the Eevee** for the idea of using the London Olympics. I, like England, was too picking and said that they had to be GOLDEN rings, but that is how I tied my idea together, so thank you!**

**A big thank you to **Farli30519, Iluna Sorgina Talis, **and **TotalHetaliaWarrior **for favoriting this! *hugs***

**And many thanks sent out to **Farli30519, Iluna Sorgina Talis, Kignon, N and S and F, TotalHetaliaWarrior, **and **shinobiqueen** for following this story! **

**For my newest reviewer, **TotalHetaliaWarrior**! (Whoa, you've done everything! Thank you!)**

**That's it for now...**

**Disclaimer: Because I would totally be writing fanfiction if I owned Hetalia.**

* * *

Francis had the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes the next morning. England snickered at him, and France simply gave him a tired look before slumping over the table.

"Git," England snorted. He was in an exceptional mood today, had had a good night's sleep and woke up refreshed and ready to face the day. France, on the other hand, had left the bed at 10PM and hadn't crawled back in until 6AM. _Why_, England wasn't sure, and was slightly disappointed that France hadn't spent the night with him(though he would never admit it, ever), but shrugged it off. It wasn't as if they were _that_ close. They had been enemies since before duct tape, and England _had _been trying to find ways to get rid of Francis all week. The only thing that they really shared was the bed on Christmas Eve. And Jacques was an experience Arthur would prefer to forget.

France didn't answer. He was too busy making out with his cereal bowl.

Britain honestly thought he was doing him a favor when he poured the milk on his head.

"Merde!" Francis shrieked. Now (mostly) awake, he pulled at his sopping locks in despair. "Why would you _do _that?"

"Why are _you_ so tired?" Arthur asked right back, inspecting his fingernails. "What were you doing that was more important than your 'beauty rest'?"

Now France looked excited. "I stayed up making you something!" He got up, a little wobbly, with his blonde hair dripping milk. "I'll go get it!"

He dashed upstairs, leaving a confused England left to clean up the milk that spilled onto the table from Francis's head. He took a paper towel and began mopping up the mess, grousing.

"I've got it!" France said triumphantly. "Here we are!" He handed England a book with the title '2012 London Olympics' and a picture of the rings on the front. Inside was a collage of British victories.

"Wow," Arthur said finally. France looked at him with eager eyes.

"_Avez-vousaimé?"_ he asked. "Mohammed Farah and Jessica Ennis are in there, and Greg Rutherford and a huge amount of other British gold medalists."

"Wow," Britain repeated. "Why the London Olympics?"

"Well, there are five rings," France pointed out. He looked so very, very hopeful. And England felt as if he had to crush that hope.

"They aren't _golden _rings," he sulked. France's face fell.

"But there are five rings."

"The carol specifically says five GOLDEN rings," England said snootily. "This is very nice, and I believe I'll keep it, but I need something with five golden rings."

Francis scowled. This was first time he had ever looked truly angry at Britain's house the past few days, England realized. Still, he egged him on.

"What's more," he said spitefully. "Why are you still here? You _know _that I hate your very existence. I don't see why you have to overstay your welcome here. It's downright disrespectful, a gentleman like myself housing the _whore of the world_."

France stared at England in shock. Slowly, he backed up, fearful. The magnitude of what he had just said came rushing to Arthur at once.

"I –" he said, desperately trying to fix what he just said.

"_Arrêtez_," he said, his voice cracking. The beginnings of a wave of tears started to form in his eyes, and he smiled a broken smile. "It's funny that you think that. _Hilare_."

"No, this isn't funny –"

"I remember when you used to smile more. Your smile always made me happy. I believe I once told you that, and you blushed and muttered, 'Frog,' and then I laughed," Francis continued as if England hadn't said anything. "You don't laugh or smile anymore, and you always told me it was because of _moi_. So I think you're right. I have overstayed my welcome. I'll just go grab my cell phone and leave, _oui_?"

"France –" England grabbed his arm, and he flinched.

"_S'il vous plaîtne pasme toucher,_" he said quietly. England let go of his arm with a small gasp. Francis was trying to hold back the tears, trying to hold back the small whimpers. "_Pardonnez-moi, en Angleterre. _But, for the record…." He turned to face England, the smile still painted on his face. "I never wanted to be the whore of the world. The title was given to me by all of you."

He turned and fled.

* * *

France had barricaded himself in the guest room. Britain knew it would be useless to try to get in, because if anyone knew how to barricade, it was France. He had had enough practice during the French Revolution and the student rebellions that followed afterward. So England settled for listening at the door.

At first there were just muffled sobs, then the noise of Francis punching in some numbers on his phone.

"_Bonjour, _Antonio," he sniffed. "It's Francis. Something's –" He stopped talking suddenly. "That's wonderful!" he exclaimed.

_It's amazing how he can muster energy to be happy about someone else's success after being treated like shit_, Arthur thought guiltily.

"And it's about time, too. And he said….when will it be? Have you planned that yet?" Some more silence. "And you better invite – oh. Why I called?" England could imagine France blinking back tears. "It's Ar….England. He….he _hates _me, Toni!" A choked sob. "He really does. I stayed up all night to make him a scrapbook of British gold medalists, and all he did was complain about how the rings weren't golden! Then he…..he…..I don't want to talk about it."

England pressed his ear closer to the door to see if he could hear Spain's reply. Faintly he heard "….call you a whore?"

"_Oui_."

"That sick…I'm going to fucking….hang on, I'll call…." Arthur caught snippets of what Antonio was saying.

"_Non!_ _S'il vous plaîtne faites pas cela!"_ France cried. "Antonio!"

The phone downstairs started ringing. England twitched in surprise, then hurried to answer it.

"WHAT THE FUCK IN WRONG WITH YOU, ENGLAND?" Spain exploded on the other end.

"It was a mistake; I really want to apologize…" Arthur tried to explain.

"I don't want to hear your excuses, senor," Spain growled. "I want to tell you that you have just broken my _major amigo _and there is going to be hell to pay."

"I –"

"Listen up, _bastardo_. Francis has liked you for a very long time," Antonio hissed. "Not even liked, _loved_. And every time you're around you smash his heart into a million tiny fragments. Why do you _think _he was avoiding you on Christmas Eve?"

Britain felt faint. "He loves me?"

He heard a shout in the background, and a 'Sorry, Romano, I'm yelling the shit out of England right now, he just broke Francis'. "Yes, you idiot, he loves you and has for awhile. Ever since you were Britannica and Gaul is what he told me," Spain said, half pissed, half exasperated. "One of his happiest memories was when you told him he was a very pretty girl."

"It was?"

"GO FUCKING APOLOGIZE!" Spain abruptly hung up.

England nervously knocked on the door of the room France was locked in. "Francis?"

"_Oui_?"

"I….I didn't mean what I said. I was just…" Arthur trailed off. "I said some really cruel things to you, and they weren't true at all."

"You're only saying that because Antonio told you to."

"No, I really am sorry. I was unfair. I've only judged you based on my stereotypes," England said urgently. "I've never actually appreciated French culture."

"You can appreciate my culture?"

"My motto _is _in French." Britain smiled slightly.

The door quietly clicked open, and a blue eye peered out. "You won't call me a pervert anymore?"

"I swear," England said solemnly. France's face broke out into a wide smile, and the entire door swung open to allow the Frenchman to tackle hug Arthur.

Not to mention allowing a multitude of furniture(previously used as barricade material) to tumble down on top of the two European nations.

* * *

"I told you, it's fine if the rings aren't golden!" England said for the millionth time.

"_Non, _this is an experience you need to have," France said, munching on his turkey sandwich. "Come on, put on your ski mask."

"But I don't WANT to rob a store for five golden rings!"

"Five? We only need one," France said, slipping on his own mask.

"What?"

"I'll explain later~!"

* * *

"I told you it was a stupid idea."

"You know, I expected that to work out better."

"You two! Stop talking!"

France stuck out his tongue when the policeman's back was turned. England snickered. They could both be very juvenile when in trouble with the law.

"It worked so much better with the turtle doves," Francis whispered to England.

"Okay, I need names," the guard said irritably. "You first, sir." He pointed at France.

"Francis Bonnefoy."

"And this is your first time in trouble with the law?"

"_Non_."

"Were you currently on probation?"

"_Non_."

"What was your previous crime?"

"Pira –" England elbowed him. "Um…..underage drinking?"

"And you, sir?"

"Arthur Kirkland." He sighed as France rubbed his side, wincing.

"Is this your first time in trouble with the law?"

"Yes." _The first time I've been caught, anyway. _Francis raised an eyebrow, and England mouthed, 'Shut up.'

"Well, you didn't take anything, so I suppose I'll just let you off with a 400 pound fine," the policeman sighed. "You should pay within the month, but you're free to go for now."

"Thank you."

"_Merci_."

Francis and Arthur left the station, one smiling and one scowling. "That was exciting."

"That was illegal."

"It is only illegal if you get caught, _Angleterre_," France playfully pushed him.

"You've been around America too much."

"But at least we got what we were looking for!" Francis said happily.

"No, we didn't. Even if you did manage to steal anything, they patted both of us down," Arthur protested.

France grinned and pulled out a single golden ring. "Never tell a pirate he didn't steal what he sought."

* * *

The ring was now on Arthur's ring finger, because where best to hide stolen goods than out in the open? And it was a very nice ring. Both Britain and France had admired it once safely back at England's house.

"Where are the other four golden rings?" England tapped his foot impatiently, picking at his dinner. France beamed and gestured to his own hands.

"Here's one," he pointed at a band of gold that he had received long ago from China long ago. "And another." He pulled up string that held a ring he wore around his neck. That one was from Jeane d'Arc, from right before she went off to war for the last time.

"And the other two?" Britain put some chicken in his mouth, savoring the flavor and chewing slowly.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" France was practically bursting with excitement. "Antonio proposed to Romano today."

* * *

**That was very fun to write. Also, in a COMPLETELY unrelated note, my friend and I bought Hetalia: Paint It White(ENGLISH DUB SO EXCITED!) and watched it. Even though I had already seen it subbed, the dubbed movie was much better! And the best part was IT WAS ON SALE SO WE DIDN'T HAVE TO SPEND $25!**

**So I'm happy~!**

**Reviews, favorites, follows, and alerts are love! Thank you all for reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry for the late update. I woke up after 11 and had to get my braces today. Yay. On the bright side, they don't hurt!(It's hard to chew, though. My teeth keep hitting each other at weird angles.)**

**YES ANOHER REVIEW THIS ONE FROM **Iluna Sorgina Talis**!**

**Disclaimer: Because I would totally be writing fanfiction if I owned Hetalia.**

* * *

"Wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up!" Arthur shook France violently. "GET UP SHIT FACE."

Francis let out a slur of incomprehensible French and rolled over. England shoved him just hard enough to push him off the bed.

"_Mon Dieu_," France's muffled voice. "It's early."

"It's ten am, you git! Get up! I'm hungry!"

"You sound like _Mathieu _when he was little," he grumbled from the floor. "Let me get dressed and I'll make you pancakes."

"Can there be chocolate chips in them?" Britain asked hopefully.

"The last thing you need is sugar. Aren't you a grown man?" France sighed.

"So?"

"_Oui_, I'll add chocolate chips. Now go! I need to dress!"

"Thanks!" England walked out of the room, feeling like he had won a battle(which he had). Humming his national anthem, he buttered an English muffin and stuck it in the toaster.

"Oh, Britannia! Britannia rules the waves~!" he sang, switching songs. Hearing a snicker behind him, he turned to see France wearing a crisp white shirt, jeans, and a smirk.

"What's so funny?" he irritably asked.

"If I remember correctly, Britannia _doesn't _rule the waves," Francis said lightly, pulling down a few ingredients and a large mixing bowl. "Spain had a decent navy. As did I."

"Oh, shut up," England muttered. The toaster dinged, and he grabbed the Nutella and started coating the muffin with it. France made a face. "What?"

"You just put Nutella on a buttered English muffin," he pointed out, gesturing at the shiny melted butter. "I cannot even begin to comprehend how wrong that is."

"Both butter and Nutella are delicious, and even more so together," Arthur defended himself.

"Says the man who I caught dipping fish sticks in yogurt."

"Another delectable combination."

"You are a sad, strange little man. You have my pity."

"Ha! I actually know where that line is from!" England said triumphantly.

"America forced you to watch all the Toy Story movies too?" France raised an eyebrow.

"He said they were all too scary for him to handle."

"They were scary?"

"My dear France, there is nothing more terrifying than a pink teddy bear that smells of strawberries."

"I am going to drive," Francis gritted his teeth.

"No, you aren't!" England argued. "This is my car, and I shall drive it! You'd probably get us killed anyway! YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO DRIVE CORRECTLY HERE!"

"_Oui je peux!_"

"NO YOU CAN'T!"

"Well, _you _don't know where we're going!"

England couldn't argue with that logic. Scowling, he settled into the passenger seat. He had to remember to put 'reason' on his hit list. "Where _are _we going?"

"Where else," France said, putting the car into reverse. "But the goose farm?"

"Goose farms exist?" England questioned.

"Yes," Francis answered. "And we are going to get six. One for each of the Allies, including us."

"There are only five," Britain said, confused.

"Everybody forgets Canada," Francis sighed. "He did just as much as America during the second world war, except he wasn't bombed by Japan."

"Really?" Now Arthur looked interested.

"_Oui. _You should ask him about it sometime."

"I shall."

The two countries arrived at Georgie's Goose Farm a little after one. By then England's stomach was growling again.

"Don't worry, I'm sure they have someplace to eat around here," Francis reassured him. "Let's eat, then get our geese."

There was a vendor there who sold them two _very suspicious _looking hot dogs. Francis looked at his warily while Arthur swallowed it in one bite.

"Are you going to eat that? I'm starving," England said.

"You...you can have it," France replied, faintly green. "Let's just go get the geese."

With much overly dramatic sighing, Arthur and Francis made their way over to the selection of geese. They were all female, there was a larger variety to choose from, they were cheaper, not to mention that ganders can't lay eggs.

"That one for Alfred," Britain said almost immediately, picking out the loudest, most energetic goose.

"That one for Yao," France said thoughtfully, pointing at a goose busy making nests in every area of free space.

"And that one for Ivan," England shuddered at a evil and extremely happy looking one.

"_Mathieu_," Francis gestured at one England hadn't noticed before.

"You," they said in unison, looking at a pair of geese that were beating the living daylights out of each other. Arthur laughed nervously, and France picked up the goose that was picked for him. The goose squawked in a way that almost sounded like, "Ha! I told you I would be picked first!" "I think I'll call it Pierre."

"It's a female, you idiot."

"Pierr-_a_, then."

"You really need to stop spending time with America," England concluded, picking up his own goose. "I'm calling her Victoria."

"After the queen?"

"No, after the underwear store. _Yes_, after the queen, you fool!"

"Just checking~!"

"Let's just pay for these and go," England groaned, picking up Canada and China's geese.

"You left the other two just to spite me, didn't you, _Angleterre_," France said, struggling with America's overexcited goose and holding Russia's as far away as possible to hold a goose.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of my genius," Britain gloated.

"I can't hear you over the sound of America's goose," France grumbled. "_Allez_, let's just pay for these."

The geese were expensive; they all cost a total of 240 pounds, which England paid but France swore he would pay back in Euros. They then put each of the geese in a cage and drove off with the birds in the backseat.

"_Merde!"_Francis yelled as his face connected with the steering wheel after an especially loud squawk from Alfred's bird.

"Shut up or I'll cook you all!" Arthur screamed at them.

"I'm not eating them if you do cook them," France glared at the road, icy, dangerous, and just generally a bitch.

"Thanks for nothing, you frog!"

"I'm _driving_! Shouldn't you thank me for that?!"

"I want to drive!"

"_Non, _we went over this already!"

"I know the bloody way back to my house!"

"Do you really want to get out of the car in this weather?!"

"…"

"_Je le pensais._"

"Yes, yes, you WILL pick them up as soon as possible!" England shouted at the phone. "I don't want these water fowl lounging around my house any longer than needed! Oh, God, they've started fighting again. No, that is NOT a good place to build a nest! Listen, I'll call you back, okay America?" Arthur hung up abruptly to separate Victoria and Pierra.

"Did Alfred say anything of importance?" France asked, holding Yao's bird. "Did _anyone _say anything of importance?"

"Well, they've all already named their birds," Britain heaved a sigh. "America chose the name Martha. Ivan chose Anastasia. Matthew chose -" he winced at this "_Justin_. And Yao chose Jiao."

"Jiao is a pretty name. Hey, Arthur, guess what?" France said suddenly.

"What?"

"At the party, China was talking about some names he thought fit us. And you know what yours was?" Francis could barely contain his laughter.

"What?"

"Hsiu Mei."

"Isn't that a girl's name?"

"_Oui_, but guess what it means."

_Do I really want to know? _"What?"

"Sophisticated eyebrows."

Martha squawked when England dropped Jiao in order to free his hands to begin to throttle France.

* * *

**Sorry that it's short and kind of crappy. I had to get it posted.**

**Yes, that is a real Chinese name. I found it while searching for Jiao's name. And I had to put it in.**

**Something else I leanred while typing this: the word 'Nutella' isn't recognized by the English dictionary. NOOOOOOOO**

**Looks like they're going to have some more guests for awhile~! And of course there's going to be something special for New Year's Eve!**

**Reviews, favorites, follows, and alerts are love! Thank you all for reading this!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Guess who realized Justin isn't a girls name? Did I mention I was an idiot?**

**Disclaimer: Because I would totally be writing fanfiction if I owned Hetalia.**

* * *

"No. Absolutely bloody – MARTHA YOU STOP THAT THIS INSTANT! JUSTIN! GET OVER HERE!"

The goose known as Justin turned her head at her name, and waddled over to the angry island nation. She let out a call, as if saying, "My name isn't Justin."

"I know, old girl," England massaged his temples. "_Why _Matthew had to give you a man's name, I don't know."

"I've met girls named Justin," Francis piped up, stroking Jiao's head.

"Yes, I am quite sure when I say that Canada named this bird after that 19 year old pop star from his country," Britain grumbled. "Beaver, or whatever his name is."

"Bieber. You mean he isn't American?" France looked shocked.

"No, he is very much Canadian," Arthur sighed, then looked back at Canada's goose. "I'm going to be calling you Tina. Do you like that name?"

The goose squawked in approval.

"Good. Now Francis, what were you saying before OH DEAR GOD NO ANASTASIA YOU DO NOT SIT ON JIAO!"

"Pierra! Victoria! Stop fighting!" France scolded, pulling the two apart. "I was saying we should go to the park for a picnic, and then celebrate New Year's Eve."

"It's New Year's Eve?" England dropped Anastasia. "How did that happen?"

"Time flies when you're having fun, as _Amerique _puts it," Francis shrugged.

"Or when you have no choice but to house your dearest enemy who you may or not love."

"Hmm?"

"Nothing!" Arthur blushed at his slip up.

"I heard the word 'love'~!" France practically sang.

"Martha just shit on your shoe."

"NOOOOOOOO!"

* * *

The geese were all locked up in their cages so that they would not destroy Arthur's home while he and the French nation were out. That didn't stop the never ending honking.

"I swear, they're shouting rude things to each other," England shot a cautionary glance over his shoulder.

"_Indifférent__. __Allons,__allons-y,_" Francis said airily. "I'll even let you drive today."

"So considerate, letting me drive my own vehicle," England said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

France looked pleased. "Aren't I?"

"You're a frog."

"That's no good. Swans eat frogs."

Britain visibly paled. "S-swans?"

"_Oui_. Seven swans a swimming," France looked at him curiously. "_Mon cher_, are you alright?"

"Are you sure that it's swans?" Arthur pressed. "I thought it was seven lords a leaping or something…."

"_Non_, that's the tenth day of Christmas."

"Maids a milking, then."

"Tomorrow, _Angleterre_."

"There CAN'T be swans. There just –" Arthur stopped, blushing. France smiled knowingly.

"Is _mon petit lapin _scared of mean old swans?" he teased.

"I AM NOT!" England shrieked.

"You are!"

"NO!"

"_Oui!_"

SMACK.

"THAT HURT, _SOURCILS!_"

LE SMACK.

"FROG FACE!"

"SWAN FEARER!"

"SWANS ARE TERRIFYING CREATURES! THEY COULD KILL A MAN!"

"SO YOU ADMIT IT!"

"YOU BETTER BLOODY BELIEVE I DO!"

"WELL, WE'RE GOING TO THE PARK WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT!"

"FINE WITH ME!"

"LET'S GO THEN!"

"OKAY!"

* * *

"So, do you care to explain your fear of swans?" France asked as they walked into the park.

"No," England replied shortly. "I really don't want to talk about it."

"But _mon amour _–"

"I am not your love!" England yelled a bit too loudly. Some others walking around stared at him strangely, and he flushed scarlet.

"Your blush is saying something different," France grinned.

"My blush doesn't say a word to you!"

"I suppose not," France surprisingly agreed. "But I still want to know why swans are so intimidating to you."

"…fine," England muttered, glaring sideways away from the Frenchman. "Before I started my conquest of the world, and I was still pretty small, I was traveling around the isle a lot, and in one of my…" He trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Escapades?" France suggested.

"Adventures," England said firmly. "In one of my _adventures _I pissed off a swan and it came after me and –" He stopped to shudder. "It's was terrifying."

"_Desole. _I didn't realize," Francis murmured, running his fingers through Arthur's hair and earning a shiver from the shorter man. "Are you cold?"

"What yes of course I'm cold you idiot why else would I shiver only because I'm cold of course!" Britain babbled.

"If you say so. Sometimes I can hardly believe you're the former British Empire."

"I can't believe Napoleon was French."

"Face the facts. If he hadn't died, _I _would have been the one who was ruling a quarter of the globe."

"Mummy," a little boy called. "Those two men are calling themselves countries!"

"Ignore them, Jeremy," the woman shot the two blondes a dirty look. "They're obviously not right in the head."

"I resent that!" Arthur yelled at her as France put his hand on his arm to calm the Brit down.

"_Angleterre_, she doesn't know. Just like most of the citizens," he cooed softly.

"Bitch," he said darkly. France clucked his tongue.

"Not _all _Brits curse, you know," he said disapprovingly. "You're supposed to be the embodiment of the country."

"And I am quite sure that there are non flirtatious Frenchies as well. Obviously you don't portray them."

"_Touché_."

England rolled his eyes, then froze up. Right in front of them was a huge bevy of swans. They swam through the water, aloof from the other birds and from the people that admired(or in Arthur's case, feared) them.

"_Un, deux,__ trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf,_" France counted. "Nine."

"I-I can count, you wanker," England mumbled.

"Not with your eyes closed like that."

"Shut up. Let's go back, there are seven swans swimming, aren't there? We found what we came here for," Arthur said, inching in the direction of the exit.

"My dear _sourcils_, are you jealous that the swans can swim and you can't?"

England's fear was temporarily forgotten as he marched France over to the water and shoved him in. The man immediately broke through the paper thin layer of ice the framed the lakes edges into the freezing water. The water wasn't deep, but it came up to Francis's knees when she shakily stood up with a scowl.

"That was a little bit over dramatic, _batard_," he glowered, shivering.

"Mummy, that man just pushed that other man into the lake!" the same child and his mother had returned, and the young boy had witnessed Arthur's actions.

"Oh, it's them again," the woman said with an air of significance. Noticing the sopping wet Francis, she cried, " That poor man! Did his companion do that to him, Charles?"

The little boy nodded solemnly. "And the wet man called him a 'ba-tar'."

A pink blush spread across the woman's face. "Don't repeat that, Charles. Though I do have to say that the one with the eyebrows deserved it." She started heading over to England, who was laughing at France. "You, sir! What do you think you're –"

Her mouth gaped open as France lunged for Britain and dragged him into the lake with him.

"FRANCE!"

"Perhaps we should leave them be," she said faintly. "Come now, Charles. Your father is waiting."

* * *

France put up streamers around the Brit's house, much to the dismay of said Brit.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he asked in apprehension.

"I think I am adding a little holiday cheer to an otherwise dreary British household," France said simply. "Is there a problem with that?"

He didn't wait for an answer; instead he left England spluttering there. He had more streamers to hand, and anyways, it was almost dinner time. And there was no way Francis was going to let Arthur cook. A hamburger within 50 feet of America had better odds than Britain did when it came to his cooking.

"What are you making?" England wrinkled his nose, following France into the kitchen. "Soup?"

"French onion soup," France specified.

"Of course," Britain rolled his eyes. "I'm going to go pick out some movies so we can do SOMETHING while waiting for midnight."

"Something? Anything?" France asked mischievously.

"By the Queen, France! Get your mind out of the fucking gutter!" Arthur yelled. France smirked.

"Anything could mean anything, _mon petit lapin_! It could mean a board game!" he called as the island nation left with a grumble.

"I'M JUST GOING TO PICK OUT THE MOVIES, OKAY?! OKAY!"

He sighed and looked through the options. There were many a British classics, along with all of the Harry Potter movies. But he had seen those all and currently they seemed rather bland. Then he stumbled across the movies he had gotten from America.

_Cinderella and the Sword and the Stone….._ he mused to himself. _Or maybe even one of the one's France got. And since we're definitely watching Cinderella, the princess movie should be his._ He picked up Beauty and the Beast.

"Oi! Frog! I've picked the movies!" he shouted into the kitchen.

"Good, we can eat dinner and start watching now!" Francis said excitedly. "Wait, I'll be right there!"

"Fucking Gaston!" Arthur yelled. It was 11:50, and Beauty and the Beast was drawing to a close. "Can't he see what a damn jerk he is? The Beast was right to knock him off the building!"

"Hush, it's just a movie," Francis put a finger to his lips, attention on the screen. "And it's almost over."

England blew some air out of his mouth. "Still."

The minutes ticked by, and soon the credit were rolling. It was 11:57.

"Turn on ABC or whatever channel the ball is being dropped on," England yawned. France complied.

"I didn't think you liked America's traditions," France said.

"This is one the whole world partakes on," England answered. "Besides, the idiot got me hooked when they first started."

"It's almost time!" the announcer said. "All of Times Square is counting down!"

"Hey France?"

"_Oui_?"

"TEN!"

"Have you ever had a New Year's kiss?"

"NINE!"

"Once or twice. They never meant much."

"Oh."

"EIGHT!"

"Are you saying you want to kiss?"

"SEVEN!"

"No!"

"SIX!"

"Well…..maybe."

"FIVE!"

"We're running out of time~!"

"I know that, you git!"

"FOUR!"

"So shall we kiss?"

"THREE!"

"I guess so."

"TWO!"

"But for the record, this is going to be the most cliché first kiss ever."

"ONE!"

"Agreed."

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

* * *

**Cliché ending is very, very cliché. At least Artie warned you.**

**And yes, England counts this as their first kiss. All shall be explained in the next chapter...**

**Also, the stories behind the geese's names!**

**Martha - wife of George Washington**

**Justin(renamed Tina) - Bieber, a reason why half of the world now knows about Canada. Sad but true.**

**Anastasia - the Russian princess whose family was slaughtered(you should probably know this)**

**Victoria - the Queen of England**

**Pierra - Francey Pants honing America**

**Jiao - means 'beautiful' or 'lovable'. Also happens to be Chinese currency. **

**I ended it there because it was the end of the seventh day of Christmas. ^^ Aren't I evil?**

**Reviews, favorites, follows, and alerts are love! Many thanks to **Guest **and **Guest**(could you be the same? IDK...) for reviewing!**


	10. Chapter 10

**POSTED BEFORE MIDNIGHT! TAKE THAT, DEADLINES!**

**Phew...sorry it took so long! Thank you to Guest(or do you prefer **Smile**?) for your wonderful review, and thank you to **Anneliza **for that wonderful follow!**

**Disclaimer: Because I would totally be writing fanfiction if I owned Hetalia.**

**A side note: Going by East Coast US time. So if you live in England, it's already tomorrow. But not here! So...yeah. That's it, just thought I should let you guys know.**

* * *

France's lips were soft against England's. The island nation leaned into it, pressing up against France and not pulling away. Francis's eyes were wide. The television in the background had been muted after the 'Happy New Year!' and Britain couldn't say he wasn't grateful. Finally, the two broke apart, breathless.

"_Vous n'êtes pasbu_?" he asked in a shaky voice.

"I…it's late!" England practically shouted, trying to distract himself from the fire that had moments ago been coursing through his body. "It's after midnight!"

"_Oui_."

"I'm tired!" Britain yelped. "I think I'll just head up to bed now!"

"_Angleterre_," France said gently. "It was just a kiss. It…..it didn't mean anything." His voice broke.

"Didn't mean anything?" Now Arthur sounded insulted, and he felt his cheeks flare up. "Is kissing me really that terrible? 'Ohonhon, I am French, I can kizz anyone I like wizout feeling a thing?!'"

"_Non_, it's just –"

"Do I really mean _nothing _to you?"

"But _Angleterre _–"

"Shut up! I don't want to hear it!" England wiped his face with his hand, catching a few angry tears. "I'm going to bed. GOOD. NIGHT."

"There's something you should probably see before you head upstairs," France said, his tone a bit dark. He gestured at the television, still mute. England looked at it. "What –?"

Alfred. Fucking. Jones.

Was on top of one of the ball in Times Square.

"Dear God, he better be carrying his cell phone!" England shrieked as he launched himself across the room to the telephone and dialed. The camera crew had zoomed in on the idiotic American. A scowl passed his face as he dug out his cell from his pants and checked the caller ID, but it was erased as he flipped it open with a smile. "Hey Artie!"

"What the hell are you doing?!" he screamed. France snickered, and England shot him a look.

"Right now I'm in Times Square. Rita told me the view from the ball was terrific, so I wanted to see if it was!" Alfred explained, grinning.

"I know that! Do you realize that you are on _international television_?" Britain yelled. "I am fucking _watching _you talk to me right now!"

"Really? Cool!" the large country exclaimed, beaming. "Hey, what am I doing right now?" He started dancing.

"The Macarena," England said shortly. "Listen, you not only could get extremely hurt and most likely _arrested_, you ALSO interrupted my New Year's ki –" He stopped.

"New Year's?" confusion passed Alfred's face. "Dude, it won't be the New Year for a couple hours."

"A couple hours?" Arthur asked. Francis mouthed the words 'time difference.' "Oh. Different time zones. I suppose they just showed a replay of last year…."

"Yeah. I can't wait until the ball drops! The rush, man! The rush!" America said gleefully. "I've also been getting all sorts of texts from my kids."

"Like?" England asked faintly.

"Well, William* and Jennifer* are, like, _so_ pissed," the American said, eyebrows raised, and ignoring the searchlight that was focused on him. "Charlie* is opposing it just because Ree* is so ecstatic about it. Rita, Steven*, and Toby* are pretty happy too. Reni* started texting stuff that's probably better censored and Joshua* being the follower that he is just said 'whatever twin sis texted I agree with.' The rest are pretty worried."

"THAT'S BECAUSE YOU'RE ON TOP OF THE BALL IN TIMES SQUARE!"

"Yeah, maybe," Alfred scratched his head. "Hey, someone's yelling at me with a megaphone. Something like 'get down from there!'"

"THEN LISTEN TO THEM!"

"So you want me to jump?"

"NO!"

"Then what do you want me to do?!"

"Sir, will you please –"

"Hey, chill, okay?!" America yelled down at someone – probably the NYC cops – down below. "I'm talkin' with my pal, Artie! He's a smart guy! British!"

"Thank you for that adequate and appropriate description," England said sarcastically.

"No prob.

"I'm exhausted. I'm even _more _tired from just _talking _to you. I'm putting France on."

Francis made a 'no no no' sign with his hands. Arthur rolled his eyes and shoved the phone into his hands.

"_Bonjour, O Idiot Un_."

England sighed and went up the stairs to clear his head of that night's events, and to fall asleep. The last thing he heard was France arguing with America over the phone. Then he fell asleep.

Britain swore there was something sitting on his chest when he woke up. Maybe it _was_ the thing that was sitting on his chest that woke him up. Either way, the fact that there was something on him was confirmed when he nearly at a long brown ponytail.

"_That _wasn't very nice, aru!" China exclaimed, hopping off him. England scrambled into a sitting position.

"What in the name of all things holy and sacred are you doing here?" he cried.

"I told you it would not be good manners to have him wake up with you on top of him," Japan's reprimanding voice said from outside the room.

"Well, what did you want me to do? It was either me or Ivan, and I don't think any of us would be happy if I had let Russia crush him," China protested.

"Or have NO ONE sit on me at all," Arthur said, panic still etched on his face.

France entered the room, grinning like a madman. "Now _mon petit lapin _is awake?"

"It was like watching the dead rise," China confirmed.

"I am not a damn zombie," England said sharply, then looked at Francis with despair. "How did they get into my house?"

"I invited them for the eighth day of Christmas," France shrugged.

"How are all these bloody people able to get _into _the country yet you can't get _out_?" England asked in anguish.

"Kiku and I came with Ivan," China replied. "Your snow is kind of repelled by him."

"Russia repels British snow?" Arthur muttered.

"Someone called?" the large nation entered the room, Japan running after him and bowing to England.

"I apologize. I tried to stop them all –" he began, but Britain cut him off.

"No, if they're going to run into my bedroom, they all might as well do it," he sighed. "Who else is in my home?"

"Ludwig, Feliciano, and _Mathieu _are the only others," France ticked them off on his fingers. That caught England's attention.

"Matthew? Not Alfred?"

"_Da_. Your stupid former colony has gone and gotten himself thrown in jail," Russia said cheerfully.

"England looked at the four other nations in the room.

"I'm going back to sleep."

"_Non_!" _Angleterre, _today we are going to the dairy farm!"

"Fuck no."

"But I worked so hard on it! And big brother said –"

"Fuck what he said."

"Italy, you should probably leave England alone."

"He looks as if he is going to kill someone in the near future. I do not wish to be around when he snaps. _Sayonara_."

"At least _someone _has sense around here. Japan is going to be the only one left alive today."

"At least try it, aru. Maybe you'll even look as cute as me."

"No."

"_Angleteeeeeeeerre…_"

"No!"

"**_WEAR IT_**."

All the countries turned to look at Ivan, who had started emitting a purple aura. That was never a good sign, and England took the hint.

"Fine. I'll put it on," he said, sulking. Russia's face immediately brightened.

"Good, comrade. The rest of us are wearing ours, so you should too, _da_?"

"Well, I guess…."

"_DA_?"

"Yes, yes, alright! Just let me change!" England ran to his room and slammed the door. Shuddering, he looked at the dress he was supposed to put on. It was mostly black, with a skirt that came to his knees and sleeves that came to his elbows to match. They were cuffed with white. Over top of the black dress, he put on a white apron, though this apron covered his torso and extended in frilly cloth that slightly passed his shoulders. To top it off was a white cap.

In other words, it was a traditional British maid dress, with stockings and shoes that buckled to boot.

Arthur exited his room, grumbling but grateful that his dress wasn't as short as France's or Japan's. At least his came below the middle of his thigh.

Carrying himself like a proper lady(it was difficult, he wasn't sure how women were able to do it day in and day out), he walked downstairs. He observed the scene; France was tapping his foot impatiently, sporting a French maid costume while Matthew tried to get Italy to notice him. Italy looked younger in his dress, and almost feminine, while Germany was his polar opposite. England wasn't quite sure how the burly man had fit himself into the tight-looking dress. _With great difficulty_, he thought to himself wryly. Next was Japan, whose dress was so short that it almost brought a blush to Arthur's face by just looking at him. Russia wore a long dress, perfect for a maid in a snowy climate. He was beaming, and had refused to remove his scarf. Clinging to his arm was China, who if Arthur didn't know better, would have assumed _was _a girl. Though he lacked certain _womanly parts,_ his dress was loose enough and his body was curvy enough for him to be a lady

Goddamit, they were all cross-dressing fools that were going to go and milk cows for the day.

"Come one, everybody in!" he said crossly, getting into his car. France climbed into the passenger seat, and the rest squeezed back there, with the exception of throwing both Italy and Canada in the trunk. It was a tight fit, but it work.

"Why didn't you put China in there with them? She – I mean, he's small enough to fit back there," France whispered as they got on the highway.

"Russia would have probably thrown me out the window if I'd even suggested it," Britain shivered. "That is not on my agenda for today."

"Neither was milking cows with most of the G8."

"This is different."

"Of course."

"This seems like fun~! C'mon Germany, let's go pick a cow to milk!" Italy immediately had said, grabbing the German and dragging him in the direction of the barn.

"Ludwig, you fool! You must call me Ludwig when we are around citizens!" he hissed.

"I shall go find my own cow. Perhaps I shall discover what India finds so sacred about them," Japan said, walking off on his own as well.

"How does that guy have so much energy after being crammed in a trunk for an hour?" Canada moaned, rubbing his neck.

"I already apologized once. You're not getting another."

"I am going to go milking cows as well. We do this a lot in Mother Russia," Ivan said cheerfully. Turning to Yao, he said, "Did you know that in Soviet Russia, cows milk you?"

"Really?!" China looked interested. "How do they do that? They don't have opposable thumbs! Or any fingers at all!"

"Come and Mother Russia will tell you…."

The two walked off, leaving France and England alone.

Oh yes, and Canada. Let's not forget about Canada.

"So how long will it take Alfred to get out of jail?" France asked, ignoring the strange looks people were giving them.

"As long as it takes Victoria and Charlotte to tunnel their way into the US bank," Matthew said solemnly.

"Tunnel? Couldn't they just ask for the money?" Arthur asked.

"No, the national bank in DC won't give money to the states, especially those two. Hector hasn't given his permission," Canada explained. "He's a pretty smart kid."

"But tunneling still seems a bit extreme," Arthur said worriedly.

"At least it'll get Alfred out of jail sooner," Francis said optimistically.

"I don't know about that," Matthew said, skeptical. "They were planning to tunnel their way in using spoons."

"This isn't as bad as I thought it would be," England said brightly, milking a cow named – what would you know – Bessie. "It smells better than I thought it would."

"Mmm," France said, making a face.

"What's wrong with you?"

"My maid outfit doesn't match this cow's hide," he answered distastefully.

"You are fucking kidding," Britain snorted.

"Black and white mix terrible with this tan. The colors don't lie, _mon petit lapin_."

"You're a wanker."

"It's not my fault that you were born with a shitty sense of fashion."

"If you two don't stop cursing, I'm afraid I might have to kick you out," a disapproving female voice said. The two looked up to see a woman in overalls walk towards them.

"Sorry," England said in a small voice.

"_Desole_," France murmured. "It is just two friends bickering, _madame_."

The woman looked flustered, and confused at the attire they were in. "Oh, well…..the others milking might feel a bit uncomfortable with the words you're using. What happened to you two? Lost a bet?"

"The cursing shall not happen again," France said gravely. She smiled at him. "As for the dresses, we are experiencing what it might have been like for maids back in the Victorian era and such." The lie slid easily off his lips, followed by a truth. "I believe my bucket is full."

"That's very good. The one collecting should be coming around soon; you can keep it on your lap for now," she said. Arthur snorted. She was obviously charmed by France, and though this worked in their favor, he couldn't help but feel a bit jealous.

"_Merci_. You are very kind. My friend Arthur here –" He gestured at England. " – is sometimes very rude."

"I am not, you frog."

The woman gasped, and pink stained her cheeks. "How dare you call him –"

"Relax, _cher_," France laughed. "He had called me that ever since we were _enfants_. My name is Francis, yours?"

"I-it's Mary," she giggled.

"Like the Queen of the Scots, and you see what we did to her," Britain muttered, earning a sharp glare from both of them. "What?"

"You are an idiot," France sighed. Then, turning back to Mary, he said, "He can be quite nice when he wants to. There was one time that resulted in someone named Jacques –"

England stood up with a clatter(really, he was beginning to have a newfound awe of women for being able to manage _anything_ in skirts) and forcefully shoved Francis's face in his bucket of milk. Mary gasped. "Sir –"

"YOU SAID YOU WOULD NEVER BRING THAT UP AGAIN, YOU BASTARD!"

"It kind of just slipped out of my mouth," France spluttered, spitting out the fresh milk. "Also, this is the second time you've ruined my hair in as many days."

"When did I ruin it yesterday, shit face?"

"When you pushed me into the lake!"

"France, my dear wanker, you forced me to go watch _swans _and then mocked how THEY could swim and I can't!"

"Well, it's pretty pathetic considering you were one of the greatest pirates at one point in history!"

"Swimming is a useless skill when you're trying to win the fucking French and Indian War!"

"Well at least I helped America earn his freedom!"

"And look where he is now! Jail!"

"At least Ree and Charlie are trying to get him out!"

"BY TUNNELING INTO THE US BANK IN DC USING _SPOONS_!"

"Oh my God, you're both crazy," Mary muttered, falling down. The two screaming countries looked at her.

"Eh….."

"Perhaps this is a good time to get the others and get out?"

"_Oui._"

The two backed up slowly, so as not to frighten her(or any of the other milkers who had started recording the fight on their phones), and then took off at a run. As they neared the exit of the barn they were in, a man came flying through the wall.

"What they bloody –?"

"We need to go. _Now_," Matthew said in a no-nonsense tone. "The Axis Powers are already in the car, they finished up early."

"_Matthieu, _why did a man just come flying through the wall?" France asked, pale.

"I'll explain later! We need to go NOW!" Canada emphasized grabbing the two countries' hands and dragging them towards the car. Snapping out of their state of shock, France and England began to run again.

"Where have you been?" Germany asked. "I brought wurst and was waiting for you all to show up so we could eat lunch."

"We'll eat on the road," England said hurriedly. "Where are Russia and China?"

"They're running here now," France pointed at the fast approaching figures, one giant and one on the small side.

"Okay. Okay. CANADA! GET IN THE HATCH WITH ITALY!" Britain yelled. With a squeak of surprise, the North American country grabbed the smaller one and jumped in the hatch. Russia and China finally got to the car, out of breath, and the larger nation closed the hatch as China got in.

"Drive drive DRIVE!" China yelled. England floored the gas pedal, and they were off like a bullet.

"What the HELL happened?!" the island screeched as they drove away from the dairy farm.

"I don't want to talk about it," China said quietly.

"Yao Yao doesn't want to talk about it," Russia repeated, though louder and in a much more threatening voice.

"I think I have the right to know what's going on!" England yelled.

"Well, why were you in trouble?" Germany asked.

"We got into an argument," Arthur gripped the steering wheel. "We forgot that there were citizens."

"We brought up our country names –"

"And my pirate days –"

"Then I mocked his swimming –"

"And we yelled about the wars in North America –"

"And America getting arrested."

"And that's basically it."

"And we did this all very loudly. Now spill what happened to you two."

"You are unbelievable," Germany shook his head. "I doubt anything that happened to you was that exciting."

Russia glared at him and China sank lower in his seat.

"I wouldn't say that," mused France. "I suspect you were behind the man that flew threw the wall as we were leaving."

"You threw a man through a wall?" Japan asked, disbelief in his voice.

"He deserved it," Russia said darkly.

"What on Earth did he do?" Now Britain was _really _curious.

Ivan looked at China, who sighed. "Well, if you won't stop _badgering _me, fine." He took a deep breath.

"He mistook me for a….a girl," China began, flushing scarlet. "And then he tried to feel my nonexistent boobs."

"And then I picked him up and threw him," Ivan said, grinning deliriously.

"Ouch," France winced.

"He mistook you for a _girl_?" Germany asked incredulity.

"Well you look rather feminine," Arthur pointed out, earning an elbow in the ribs from France.

"From the scream he let out, you would think that the Huns were invading," a quiet voice said from the trunk.

"It was not that loud, aru!" China exclaimed, flustered. "Who said that?"

"Canada."

"Oh. Well, how would you know what I said?" the old nation asked uncomfortably.

"I believe it was something along the lines of 'Damn that Mongolia, can't he just stay on his side of the wall?'" Japan deadpanned.

"How do you know that?!"

"I had just formed at the time. You know how impressionable children are."

"I hate you all."

"Even me, Yao Yao?"

"No. Everyone _but _you, Ivan."

* * *

"Good bye! Don't hesitate to stay in your own country!" England called to the others. "Honestly. I can't believe them."

"Oh, don't worry _Angleterre_, they'll be back again tomorrow," France said slyly.

"What do you mean?!"

"Oh, nothing. For now I want to talk about that New Year's kiss."

"...what about it?"

France pulled England tight and pressed his lips to the island. Britain's eyes widened slightly, but slowly he melted into the kiss.

"_Je t'aime_."

** "I think I might just love you too, you frog."**

* * *

***Rita - New York**

***William - Massachusetts**

***Jennifer - Minnesota**

***Charlie(aka Charlotte) - Virginia[edited from Maddi. Her original name WAS Charlotte, but I had forgotten, and put Madeline instead. But now it's all fixed!]**

***Ree(aka Victoria) - Maryland**

***Steven - Colorado**

***Toby - Texas**

***Reni(full name is Katherine) - South Carolina**

***Joshua - North Carolina**

**My OCs. You no takey without permission.**

**Guess who remembered time zones! AND FIXED HER MISTAKE! **

**Yup, Alfred got himself thrown in jail...and Maryland and Virginia are trying to get the bail money by breaking into his bank by tunneling to it.**

**With spoons.**

**Oh dear Lord.**

**Reviews, favorites, follows, and alerts are love!**


	11. Chapter 11

**More cross-dressing! Yay!**

**Thank you to **silverheartlugia2000 **for three wonderful reviews, as well as to** Smile**!**** Don't think it's a nuisance(nope LEAVE MORE REVIEWS!) and don't be shy!**

**Disclaimer: Because I would totally be writing fanfiction if I owned Hetalia.**

* * *

England was out of tea. This was not a normal occurrence, made stranger by the fact that he swore that he had had a full box yesterday. Still, he dug through his cabinets, desperate to find the caffeinated beverage.

"Why don't you just drink some coffee?" France suggested, amused. He was making a pot for himself, and it would be too much to drink alone. The nation smirked as the Englishman wobbled and stumbled around his kitchen like some drunkard.

"No," Britain refused. "It's too bitter. Besides, I _know _that there was tea here."

"Well, it's not here now," France said pointedly. "And you are going to collapse from exhaustion if you don't get any caffeine into your system. So you are going to drink this coffee whether you like it or not."

"I don't even _care_."

"I'll ask China and Japan if they stole your tea when they come back today."

"Okay – WAIT, WHAT?!"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you. It must have slipped my mind," Francis's lips curved into a smile. "Everybody is coming back today for the ninth day of Christmas."

"Everyone?" Arthur asked incredulously. "They're coming back?"

"Be glad you didn't wake up with China on you again," France teased. "And yes. They are coming back."

"Damn it to the tenth power."

"What would that be? Damn times damn times damn times damn times….." France trailed off. "I lost count."

"Idiot."

"It's hard!" France defended himself. "Keeping track of all those damns…"

"I cannot believe we are having this conversation," Britain face palmed.

"Oh yes, and Alfred got out of jail last night!" France continued brightly.

"Did he _break _out of jail or did someone _bail _him out?" England was afraid to know the answer.

"I think Rita managed to get the money from Maryland and Virginia," France said. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"These are the two girls who were going to break into the national bank through _spoon tunneling_," Arthur said slowly.

"_Oui_."

"Does this mean they succeeded?" he asked.

"I am not sure," Francis said carefully. Scowling, England turned on the television in the next room over and started flipping through the channels.

"An American news channel….American news….." he muttered. Finally coming across one, he sighed.

Across the bottom of the screen ran the words, 'Security has found hole in the national bank and missing money. Culprits not found.'

"Of course they aren't found," England groaned. "That's because they're the bloody _states_."

France awkwardly patted his arm. "There, there. America will tell you all about it when he arrives."

"_He's _coming too?!"

"Well, we can't very well have nine dancing ladies with only eight men," Francis laughed.

"You can't have nine dancing ladies with _any _men!"

"Oh contraire, _mon ami_," France shook his finger. "You could also say you cannot have eight maids a milking with any men. Yet we did that as well."

"There are male maids, you know. We didn't have to cross dress," England complained.

"Well, for this we do."

"We could just as easily go see a play and pick out nine ladies who were dancing."

"But this is more fun!" France exclaimed. "Besides…"

"What did you do?!"

"I already scheduled for us all to dance downtown."

* * *

Italy and Germany walked into England's house to find France cowering on the floor, with Arthur wielding something that looked suspiciously like a coffee pot.

"Big brother!" Feliciano cried, running to Francis.

"What are you doing?" Germany asked, more confused than angry.

"What am _I _doing? What are _you _wearing?" England asked lividly. He slightly lowered the pot.

"Oh, I made dresses for all of us to dance in!" Italy jabbered excitedly, holding up two bags marked ENGLAND and BIG BROTHER. He himself was wearing a white dress with a red skirt. It had puffy white sleeves that stopped halfway to his elbow. Black straps were on his shoulders and formed a type of corset right below where his bust would be. Red lace crisscrossed over his stomach to bring the corset together. A white lace apron was above the skirt part of the dress, which was red with a black stripe along the bottom.

Germany was wearing something similar to Italy, top wise. His puffy shirt was almost identical, though the black corset was buttoned instead of lace. His skirt was shiny purple with a pattern of white flowers on it. "What?"

"Nothing!" Britain said hurriedly, snapping his gaze away from Germany to set the coffee pot down.

"I need to go change into my dress," France said hastily, grabbing one of the bags Italy was holding and scrambling to his feet. He scurried in the direction of the bathroom.

"What's mine?" England asked nervously. Italy beamed at him.

"It is a traditional Victorian dress, with a hoop skirt and everything!" he said happily. "I sewed it just for you! And it took forever to find a hoop to fit your waist!"

"Who told you my measurements?"

"Big Brother!"

"FRANCE!"

"_Nein_. England, we need France alive and in one piece for this," Germany sighed in irritation. "Besides, this is a chance for you to, er, prove that English dancing is better than French."

Well. England couldn't turn down a challenge like _that_.

He grabbed the other bag Feliciano was holding and ran(a bit lopsidedly, the hoop weighed the bag down) to change.

* * *

If England had thought walking in the maid outfit yesterday was hard, this was impossible. It was like walking with a table around his waist. The torso was extremely tight, though he supposed it would be worse if he actually was a woman.

_And this is why no woman in England was fat at the time_, he griped. _Walking around in this could be an Olympic event._

"_Bonjour, Mademoiselle Angleterre_," France said deviously, sneaking up behind him and poking his sides. Britain let out a squeak.

"Don't DO that!" he shouted, blushing. "It's hard enough to walk without you tickling me!" He paused to take a good look at France, his head going up, down, then back up. "What the hell are you wearing?"

"I shall be dancing the Can Can," France raised an eyebrow. "This is what you wear while dancing the Can Can, _non_?"

"No."

"You make me laugh."

France wore a red and black sleeveless dress, with black lace hanging off his shoulders. The dress was mostly red, save for the crisscross on the lower torso, which looked tight yet a million times looser that England's dress. The black then traveled downward in a triangle and ruffles. And the ruffles were tiny compared the other ones that the skirt held. On his neck was a red choker, and a red feather was pinned in his hair.

"_Belle, non?_" Francis smiled, twirling around.

"You. Are a man," Arthur said slowly. "'Beautiful' does not apply to you."

"I think big brother is a pretty girl~!"

The two stopped arguing to look at Italy.

"Merci," France said finally, beaming. "And thank you for making our dresses as well!" He looked at Arthur.

"What?"

"Thank Feli!"

"For what? For sticking me in a dress that I could hide multiple bodies in?"

"Thank him, _Angleterre_."

"It's fine," Italy said. "China didn't thank me either. He just muttered something about looking like a girl."

"He should have thanked you," Germany said. "England, say thank you."

"I will not! I can't drive in this, I can't SIT in this!" he exploded.

"You can't sit in it?" France asked.

"No! How are we going to get downtown if I can't fit in the car?!"

Francis's eyes gleamed. "I think I have an idea."

* * *

"It was supposed to be a rhetorical question."

"_Oui, _but I have always wanted to do this."

"I hate you. I know you get this a lot, but I am _dead _serious when I say that."

"_Je t'aime aussi_."

"I am not telling you I love you after that experience.

"_Angleterre, _you wound me so."

"Says the man who strapped me to the roof of my own car and drove me downtown like that. How did you not get arrested?"

"Maybe they police thought you were a mannequin~!"

"Italy, maybe you should stay out of this. Anyway, I doubt a mannequin could scream and curse that much."

"What happened, dudes?" the loud American ran up, dressed in….oh God, was that Spandex?

"When did you get here?" England groused. "Did you fly again? What on Earth are you wearing?"

"Got here an hour or two ago," America explained. "Yup, I flew again! And you are totally one to talk, Artie. Is that a _hoop skirt_?"

"Complete with hoop."

"And surprisingly easy to strap to the top of his car."

"Shut up. Alfred, what are you wearing?"

"Spandex. I dug out some old costumes from the seventies and eighties."

"It burns my eyes….."

"MATTHEW?!"

The Canadian blushed. He was wearing a frilly blue tutu and was holding ice skates in one hand. "Hi, Arthur."

"Dude, you should see Japan! He looks HOT!" Alfred babbled. Everybody looked at him. "What?"

"Nothing," Arthur said quickly. "Erm, shall we go in?"

"_Oui. _Russia is dancing right now, right?" France asked Canada.

"Yes," he nodded.

"Russia's dancing? This I've got to see," England said, pushing his way past German(it was easier than expected, everybody kept a wide berth around him with that hoop skirt on) into the theatre.

Russia WAS dancing. He was wearing a short and frilly dress that looked like you could actually move in it. And Ivan was moving a whole lot. He was all over the stage. Apparently male Russian dancers weren't the only ones who had to kick in the air.

"How does he do that?" Italy asked Ludwig. "It is like he is flying! LUDWIG, I WANT TO FLY!"

"He isn't flying! Now be quiet!" Germany hissed. The music soon ended, and Ivan bowed to the confused audience.

"Was that a man?" Arthur heard someone whisper.

"I believe it was," a slightly worried tone answered.

Now Japan came out. He performed a traditional dance in a kimono; a dance which England recalled was named Chu No Mai. Somebody whistled and Japan blushed brightly, the red slightly covered by the enormous amount of white makeup he was wearing. He bowed offstage.

Next was China. He too performed a traditional dance, though Britain wasn't sure what it was. Unlike Japan, when somebody wolf whistled and called, "Hey, baby!" he took his wok out of-who-knows-where and chucked it at the person's head. The crowd gasped.

"I am a MAN, aru!" he complained, walking off the stage in a huff. Alfred snickered.

"Oh, we should all probably go to the backstage area," Canada whispered, and France nodded. Germany ad Italy had slipped away during Japan's dance, and now Germany came out onto the stage, scowling.

"I think that's a man as well! Why are they all men?" somebody in the audience said in shock.

"DO YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THAT?!" Germany yelled as the music came on and he started dancing.

The music had changed and Italy was on stage by the time the four countries were where they should have been twenty minutes ago.

"Where were you?!" China yelled. "It is very inconsiderate to – Holy Buddha, England, what are you wearing?!"

"Hoop skirt," he muttered.

"How do you walk in it?"

"I'm honestly not sure."

"Dude, maybe we could roll you!" America laughed. "And use you as a weapon!"

"'The Amazing Rolling Island,'" Matthew said softly, grinning. "Alfred, you're on."

"Oh, sweet!" America grabbed a fake looking blonde, curly wig and stuck it on his head as the music came on, then ran onstage. The music started.

"_I come home in the morning light, my mother says, 'When you gonna live your life right?'" _Cyndi Lauper came singing through the speakers. America started doing….something. Something that looked like he learned it from his Just Dance game. "_Oh Mommy dear, we're not the fortunate ones! And girls, they wanna have fu-un. Oh, girls just wanna have fun!"_

"Let this be over quickly," England said, burying his head in his hands. Thankfully, the song was relatively short, and soon Canada was called out.

"Wish me luck," he smiled nervously, pulling on his skates. "And pray that they don't throw vegetables at me."

"That would be a waste of food!" America cried out, appearing backstage. "They should give them to me so I can out them on my burgers!"

Arthur groaned and attempted to sit down. Instead, he simply toppled over.

"Ow," he said dully.

"Come now, _Angleterre_!" France chuckled, dragging him to his feet. "Watch _Mathieu_! He is skating!"

"Yeah, an ice rink came up from, like, the _floor_!" America said in amazement.

England rolled his eyes at America's ability to be impressed. He was wowed by anything and everything. England could give him a sock and the boy would be knocked off his feet.

But Britain decided to listen to Francis for once and paid attention to Matthew's performance. The Canadian was spinning on the ice. He was light on his feet, and the sheen of sweat gleamed brightly on his forehead. He leapt and spun in the air, grunting a little. Arthur stood, shocked. Who would have thought that figure skating could be so hard?

Finally, the music stopped suddenly and Canada struck a pose. The audience clapped, a little put off by the blue tutu but impressed anyhow. France clapped the hardest, overjoyed. Canada hopped off the stage, tugging off his skates as he went.

"They want you now, _Papa_," he panted.

"_Très bien_," Francis hugged his former colony, then pranced onstage. "_Bonjour, mon amis! _I shall be performing the Can Can!"

The music started: a fast paced tempo of violins and trumpets, with some light piano in the back. France danced, his legs moving up and down to the beat. Arthur could tell the immense amount of energy he was burning by just remembering the moves and performing them. Yet somehow he still managed it, and with a smile no less. Soon the audience(used to the males taking on female dance roles by now) was laughing and clapping to the beat. The song ended much too soon, in England's opinion.

France took his time getting backstage, waving and blowing kisses to the crowd. He walked up to Britain and raised an eyebrow.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What did you think? My dance is much more exciting than yours," France flourished a hand.

"I still need to dance," England grumbled. "THEN we'll see."

"Well, good luck ballroom dancing by yourself," France said nonchalantly. Arthur felt his mouth drop open.

"By myself?"

"Well, I don't see a partner anywhere around here. Not one that _knows _how to dance, anyway," Francis pointed out.

"_You _know how to dance," England said desperately.

"Arthur Kirkland? You're on."

"Give me a minute!" he said, then turned back to France, eyes pleading. "You have to dance with me."

"Ah, but I am but wearing a dress, and unfit to dance in a ballroom," Francis said dramatically.

"Then go find a suit and change or something. Listen, I don't want this as much as you, but –"

"_Angleterre_, if your feelings about this are what I think they are, then you want this very, very much," Francis said quietly.

England stopped. "How did you….?" he said, paling.

"_Je suis lepays de l'amour_," France shrugged, smiling slightly. "I know these things."

Britain stared at him.

"I just so happened to have brought a suit on the chance that this would happen. You go tell America to distract them while I go change, okay?" France said, brushing past him.

"Okay," England said distractedly.

"And as payment for my services….?" France asked.

England grabbed his face and brought it near. And kissed him

"Consider yourself paid," he quipped as he ran/wobbled off to find America.

* * *

" _WON'T YOU TAKE ME TO…..FUNKYTOWN? WON'T YOU TAKE ME TO…..FUNKYTOWN?"_

"I am ready," France said, appearing beside England.

"Good," he pursed his lips. "This song is almost over. Perfect timing."

"_Merci_~"

"Please, please, please just shut up."

France put on a pout as they music ended and America walked off the stage with his boom box.

"Good luck!" he said brightly.

"Come on," Arthur muttered, tottering onstage. "Do _not _step on my feet, because that is going to end up with both of us on the stage."

"I am French. I do not simply _step on one's feet_," Francis said in an insulted tone as they got in position.

"I'm making sure you know the consequences, you frog," England hissed. The intro had started. "And you better know the standard waltz."

"My dear _Angleterre, _I may not have invented the waltz but I might as well have," France said pompously.

"Well, what's this one from?" he asked tartly.

"Swan Lake," said France promptly. "Everyone knows that."

"But do they know how to dance in it with a man in a hoop skirt?"

"Not many do," Francis grinned. "But I am going to try my luck." He dipped England, a little surprised by the amount of weight the hoop added. Britain smirked at him.

"Not bad."

The two waltzed their way through 'Swan Lake' and soon it was over. They received a smattering of applause, not as much as Matthew, but enough. Then they walked offstage.

Well, France did.

Arthur, on the hand, fell down and rolled right off the stage with a clatter.

"BY THE GOD DAMN FUCKING BLOODY QUEEN!" he screamed. More curses poured out of his mouth, unfit for a lady, unfit for a gentleman, unfit for _anyone_. The spectators looked at him in shock. Francis looked down at him in horror, then hopped down after him.

"_Excuses. Mon ami ne se sent pas bien. Je dois le prendre à la maison maintenant. Vous avez tous été belle, mais je doute que nous le ferons à nouveau,_" he said quickly. "_Au revoir!_"

"You git, none of them can understand French!" England said irritably. "They're _my _citizens, aren't they?!"

"_Tais-toi. Ilssont à regarder_," France shushed him. "Besides, you understand my language."

"That's beside the point!"

"I think that you're tired. Let's go home."

"YOU ARE NOT TYING ME TO THE BLOODY ROOF OF THE CAR AGAIN!"

"Well, then I suggest you take off the hoop."

* * *

"So what now?" Arthur asked while trying to get a rust stain off of a pot.

"Well, we could kiss again," France suggested.

"No!" England blushed.

"Why ever not?"

"Because….because first of all, we should be _dating _before we kiss again. And second, we're both men," Britain sighed.

"And…..?"

"And what?"

"What's the problem with two men dating?" Francis shrugged.

"Well….it's not….." the island struggled with the right words, not comforted at all by France's slight smile.

"It's not what?" France asked smugly. "Not anything, that's what. You shouldn't be this shy, _mon petit lapin_."

"I…..ah….."

"Let's go to bed," Francis suggested. "It's been a long day."

* * *

**I have never waltzed in my life. I have, however, performed the Can Can, and it is a lot of effort and a lot of fun.**

**Both 'Girls Just Wanna have Fun' and 'Funkytown' are actually really good songs. :D Go listen to them if you haven't heard them!**

**Reviews, favorites, follows, and alerts are love! **


	12. Chapter 12

**I'm freezing.**

**I have decided to translate the French to English. But only after this is all done. I also shall edit all this, because there are a bunch of typos and stuff.**

**Thank you to reviewers **smile**, **silverheartlugia2000**, and **TheMalevolentToaster**!**

**Disclaimer: Because I would totally be writing fanfiction if I owned Hetalia.**

* * *

England woke up, yawned, stretched, then lay back down and tried to go back to sleep. This was made difficult by the fact that when he lay back down, he in fact did _not _lie back down. Someone's hand grabbed his head and forced him back into a sitting position. France smirked at him. "Morning, _cherie_."

Arthur hit him with a pillow.

"Let me sleep," he complained. "I'm bloody tired."

"From what?"

"From walking around in, dancing in, and then _falling down in _a hoopskirt."

"And kissing _moi_?"

"Kissing does not take energy out of a person."

"I can prove that wrong."

"Please don't. If you do, I might be forced to hurt you."

"You know you want it."

"I swear, I don't. Now let me sleep."

"Fine. But I'm making you breakfast, and you better come down when I call you."

"Yes, _mum_."

Francis let go of England's head, letting the man flop down onto his bed and curl up in a ball. He wrapped the blanket around himself, cocooning himself in the warmth.

"You are cold?" France questioned, hanging onto the doorframe.

"I'm freezing," Arthur said, voice muffled by the blanket.

"Here. You can take mine," the Frenchman said softly, draping his blanket over top of the one England was huddled in.

"Thanks," Britain said quietly.

France paused. "You know, _Angleterre,_" he spoke thoughtfully. "You are quite bipolar with your feelings."

"I don't appreciate you addressing it like that," Arthur mumbled.

"But you agree it is true."

"Yes…."

England felt France swoop down and land a peck on his covered head. "Hey!"

"Happy or angry?" he asked.

"Well…I don't know!" England huffed.

"I'm happy," France whispered.

"I think I'm happy too," England decided. "But I'm also tired and hungry. Be gone with thee, frog, and fix me something to eat."

"You never change," Francis heaved a sigh. "I guess you won't like we're doing today."

"What are we doing?"

"_Mon petit lapin_, I think it's best for it to be a surprise. But I can say it will involve a catapult."

"Please just leave me be and fix breakfast. We can discuss your plan later after I wake up."

"I'll make you some tea. Milk first?"

"What kind of fool wouldn't put the milk in first?"

"Just checking."

"Well, you've checked. Now for the last time, go make me breakfast."

"What about –"

"BREAKFAST! NOW!"

England put the sausages into his mouth as if they were the last food on Earth. Being with France had _really _messed up his stomach's sense of time. Which made no sense whatsoever, because of France's obsession with cooking. Then again, France also had an obsession with dragging England everywhere without stopping to eat. That might have had something to do with it.

France watched in amusement, legs crossed. "I take it you like it?"

"I'm eating it, aren't I?" he pointed out, taking a swig of tea.

"Now hurry up, _mon amour_. We have a busy day ahead of us," Francis cooed.

"Stop that," Britain snapped.

"Stop what?"

"Calling me that."

"Calling you what?"

"Your love!"

"But you _are _my love."

"I never agreed to anything!"

"_Oui, _you did. Yesterday. When _you _kissed _me, _I recall."

"That didn't mean I wanted to _date _or anything!"

"_En fait__, __il sorte de__fait_."

"Oh, go shove it up your arse."

"Shove _what _up my ass, exactly?"

England took the rest of his tea and dumped it on France. "NO."

"_Je suis désolé__, __je suis désolé_!" France cried. "I couldn't resist!"

"Go crack your dirty jokes elsewhere," Britain sulked, putting more sausages in his mouth.

"I hope you're happy. I have to change now. And take another shower," Francis said mournfully.

"Well, you should have thought of that before saying such things," Arthur sniffed arrogantly.

"You really are bipolar when it comes to love," France sighed. England glared at him. "But you're _my _bipolar."

"I am not," he said firmly.

"Deny it all you want. It won't change a thing."

"Denting in your head might take away some of that self-importance."

"You know, I really think now is a good time for my shower."

"You go do that. Perhaps by then I'll have changed my mind."

"You are most kind," France rolled his eyes.

"Why yes, I am. Now go along and take your shower like a good little boy," Arthur shooed him with his hand.

"Of course, _Monsieur _Bipolar sir."

* * *

"Arthur! Where's my ski mask?" France called.

"Your ski mask?" England asked in confusion. "I think the police confiscated it."

"_Bâtards_."

"What in God's name do you need it for?"

"To find some figurines," Francis yelled, searching through England's closet.

"What kind?"

"Of _Jésus__._"

"_Why?_"

"For ten Lords a leaping, _Angleterre_," France said in a 'duh' tone. "We are going to launch them in a catapult."

"WHAT?!"

"Perhaps I do not need to steal them. Do you have any statues lying around?" Francis inquired, throwing something over his shoulder that narrowly missed Britain as he entered the room.

"Probably, but why would you even consider –" Arthur was cut off as a stray shirt his face. "Hey!"

"_Désolé_!" Francis apologized distractedly. "It was this or kidnap some _very _important people, and I doubt you would appreciate me catapulting your citizens."

"Yes, but _still_ – isn't this sacrilegious or something?"

"Possibly. Oh, here's one!" the Frenchman exclaimed excitedly, pulling out a small figurine marked 'Emmanuel.' He put it to the side and continued his search.

"Stop that! I'm sure there's many a statues in my basement, you don't have to go rifling through my belongings!" Arthur snapped.

"Ah, yes! _Le sous-sol!_" France said eagerly. "That's where I found your catapult! Come on, let us search for statues of Christ!" He grabbed the island by the wrist and dragged him down the stairs to the main floor, then down the stairs to the basement.

"Here's one," England said wearily, handing a tiny statue to France.

"And five more!" he said ecstatically. "That makes _sept_!"

"Here are two others," Britain sighed, holding two medium sized sculptures by their heads.

"And one last one," Francis grinned, holding a life sized effigy of the Lord. "Now to launch them."

"No, now to take them outside, and then eat lunch," England said irately, stomach growling.

"_Mon petit lapin _is hungry so soon?"

"You've thrown off my diet, you frog."

"_Moi_?"

"Just hurry upstairs and make me lunch," England headed back up the stairs, speaking crossly. France snorted.

"I'll be up there soon."

* * *

"We are seriously going through with this."

"Should I release on _trois_?"

"I guess so…."

"_Un….deux…"_

"FIVE!" England yelled randomly. Francis looked at him as if saying 'really?' He sighed. "You're no fun. Fine, fine. THREE!"

France released the catapult. The Jesus statue went flying, landing with a smash a few hundred feet away. "Next!"

England loaded the next one on. "THREE!"

"Haven't you forgotten 'one' and 'two'?" France asked sarcastically.

"Pull the bloody lever," England said in a dangerous voice. Francis gulped and complied. It went like this, France launching the figures and England loading them, until they got to the life-sized one.

"Load it on," France commanded.

"No, I want to launch this one," England said firmly. "You've launched the rest."

"So you've saved this one for you?" Francis asked, already pushing the stone figure onto the catapult.

"Yes. Yes I have," Britain smirked. "This will be fun."

"_Un…..deux…TROIS!_" France yelled, and Arthur pulled the lever, hard. The sculpture went up, up, and then….

CRASH.

"It split into a million pieces!" Arthur yelled gleefully.

"Why are you so happy?" Francis asked worriedly. Britain was too busy laughing to answer him.

"That was _fun_," he said savagely, with a malevolent gleam in his eyes. "We should do this again sometime."

"Or we can do something more religiously friendly," France suggested timidly. "I only did this because I thought you deserved to be able to enjoy yourself today."

"And I did!"

"_Oui,__un peu__trop__si vous__me demandez__, __Sourcils__._"

"Hey now! Just because you're not a statue doesn't mean I won't launch you if you don't cut that out!"

* * *

Francis gave England a goodnight kiss. England in turn threw a hissy fit.

"It was a _kiss_!" France stressed.

"Yes, well, you've become entirely too used to kissing me!" England protested, pelting him with a stash of tangerines he kept under his bed.

"You just can't admit you – ow – love me!"

"You're a sadistic bastard, you know that, right?"

"You're the one throwing oranges at me!"

"They're _tangerines_, thank you very much!"

"They are orange citrus fruit, and you seem to have an unlimited supply under your bed. OW!"

"I hope you go blind in that eye."

"Fine, I'm going! I'll leave you in peace!" France raised his hands in surrender. "I just need to use your phone."

"Why?" England asked, stopping mid-throw. "This is the first time you've actually _asked _my permission, is there something special about the occasion?"

"_Non_! I just need to book my flight back to France!" the long-haired nation said quickly. "Planes start flying again on _Lundi. _I need to get my ticket."

"That's right. You're leaving in a few days." The time had really slipped by, Britain thought to himself. And, he hated to admit it, he was a little _sad _about France leaving.

"Use the phone, wanker. I don't care," he yawned.

"_Merci_."

England smiled a little as he caught France's 'I'll join you soon.'

* * *

**First of all, let me say that bipolar disorder is nothing to mock and I was only using it as a metaphor. PLEASE DO NOT TAKE IT THE WRONG WAY. I GET HOW SERIOUS THAT ISSUE IS.**

**Holy crap, we're already on day ten. Wow.**

**This chapter was inspired by my good friend **Jaroro64**. I honestly had no idea how this was going to be, but their idea inspired the flying Jesus statues. I know it wasn't your original idea, but thank you for that wonderful inspiration! :D**

**Reviews, favorites, follows, and alerts are love!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Never again am I typing out England's full name. It is long. And it is fancy. And it is easier to say than to type.**

**More kind reviews from **smile**, **lafayette722**, **silverheartlugia2000**, and **TheMalevolentToaster**! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH; REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME!**

**One part in this was inspired by a review from **silverheartlugia2000**. Thanks!**

**Disclaimer: Because I would really be writing fanfiction if I owned Hetalia.**

* * *

"_Angleterre! Allez, levez-vous! Bâtardparesseux... _"

"I'M GETTING UP, YOU FROG! NO NEED TO BE RUDE!"

The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland hauled himself out of bed with a grunt. Slipping on his robe, he shuffled down his stairs to see France smiling at him.

"How are you always so damn _happy _in the morning?" he grumbled, grabbing a newspaper he should have read nearly a week ago.

Francis shrugged. "Because this day has the potential to be something wonderful."

"Please don't spout Hallmark greeting card lines at me," England moaned, grabbing a cup of tea that France had just made. "It makes me nauseated."

"Don't blame me for your cynical outlook on life," the Frenchie said, clucking his tongue. "I'm still young."

"You're older than me."

"Then there's no reason for you to be unhappy," Francis said in a definitive tone. "Now eat your toast."

Arthur looked at the toast warily, and then at France. "You're trying to poison me."

"_Quoi_?" France was sure he'd misheard.

"That's why it's not French toast. You poisoned it," the isle looked at the toast distastefully. "And being the stingy country you are, you decided not to waste good ingredients on a meal that was going to kill me."

"You're insane. I simply know the level of blandness that you prefer your toast at," France rolled his eyes. "Now eat up. Besides, if I really was going to kill you, why would I steal two diamond turtledove pins and a gold ring?"

"Point taken. I'll eat it," Britain sighed dramatically and started spreading jam on the toast. "At least it isn't burnt."

"How is it possible for you to suggest that it is even possible for me to burn food?" Francis pretended to be insulted.

"Everybody fails sometimes," England shrugged. "For example: Napoleon was one of the greatest generals in the world."

"Thank you."

"Shut up, I'm not done. As I was saying, Napoleon was one of the best generals out there. Yet he somehow figured winter was a lovely season to invade Russia in."

"I told him not to."

"Sure you did. Hey, can you put this back in the fridge?" England handed him the jam.

"_Oui_. But, you know, it's not as if you didn't have your fair share of defeats," France said, putting the container away. "I seem to remember a certain Hundred Years' War you lost to….oh, who was it?...oh, yes, _moi_!"

"Only war you ever won, frog."

"I resent that. Maybe tomorrow I WILL poison you."

"You can try."

* * *

"But I don't _want _to go to a smoker's pub," Arthur whined.

"I told you, it isn't a smoker's pub," France sighed exasperatedly.

"Fine, then. A bar for old men who are going to remind me _entirely _too much of Allistor,*" he huffed.

"You don't know that," the Frenchman reprimanded.

"Actually, I do," England snapped.

"Well, would you prefer for me to get some of Ian's* band?" Francis asked dangerously.

"No," Arthur paled. "Can't we just not have _anything _to do with my brothers?"

"It's not my fault that smoking pipes remind you of Ireland," France gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Do you have a friendly relationship with _any _of your brothers?"

"Peter's probably the closest," Arthur sighed. "And he doesn't particularly like me either."

"Well, I suppose that's what happens when your brother becomes the largest empire in the world," France said, applying more pressure to the gas.

"Not to mention the Irish Potato Famine," Britain groaned. "He'll never forgive me for my actions then. Not that I deserve forgiveness."

Francis fell silent. He refused to say what they were both thinking. _You were crueler than the devil himself back then._

"Are we there yet?" England asked suddenly. France took his eyes off the road for a second to glare at him.

"Did you _really _just ask me if we're there yet?" he inquired with a bitter grin. "The same man who scolded _Amerique_ for asking the same question a week ago?"

"Well, he had to pick it up from somewhere."

"It was _you_?"

"Where did you think it was from? Spain? The Netherlands?" Arthur snorted. "The oby learned all of his finest traits from me."

"_Oui_, because annoyance is such an admired trait."

* * *

"AS I'VE SAID, I don't want to be here," Britain whispered to France as they entered the pub. "So let's find our eleven and then get out."

"Shy around these pipers, are we?" Francis said teasingly.

"I used to play in a smoker's bar," England said, voice distant and eyes seeming to see something no one else could. Then again, this happened more often than the island would care to admit. Back in October, he had been caught sitting in the most sincere pumpkin patch around, talking to the Great Pumpkin, which not even America was able to see, much to Britain's disappointment.

"You did?" France asked in surprise, breaking England out of his memories of pumpkins and Octobers past.

"Yes. During my punk years," Arthur bit his lip. "I played the guitar."

"And the drums, if I recall correctly," Francis noted. "You used to drag your drums and amplifier to the banks of the Channel and you pounded out a beat to disturb the peace every time I came there for some quiet."

"Your peace disturbed my chaos first," England retorted.

"I am not even going to begin on how little sense that – oh look, one piper piping," the Frenchman said distractedly, pointing at an old man.

"He could be a pirate," Britain said randomly. "I swear, I knew his ancestor."

"Perhaps. I think that was one of the ones I made walk the plank," Francis said thoughtfully.

"Should we go talk to him?"

"And say what? 'I'm the one responsible for you many-great grandfather's death?'"

"Then we shall continue our search."

"_Oui_," France coughed, inhaling some smoke the wrong way.

"Are you okay?" Britain asked worriedly.

"Fine," his companion smiled weakly. "Hey, there's a pair of women smoking pipes over in that corner. Three pipers piping."

"Oh, put a sock in it. That smoke they're puffing is probably what caused you to keel over like that," England huffed, helping the other man stand up straight.

"You're exaggerating," France quirked a smile. "Not to mention losing."

"Losing?" England spluttered. "The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland does not _lose_."

"Well, you're going to. Another piper," France pointed at a young man ordering a drink. "I've already found four pipers piping, and you have found none."

"Well…..well….." Arthur stuttered. "There's three more!" He pointed at a trio of fisherman.

"Very good," France said, impressed. "Seven total."

"Now eight," Britain said excitedly. "Someone just walked in smoking a pipe."

"_Neuf_," Francis smirked, gesturing towards another woman who was playing poker.

"Ten!" Arthur cried, noticing yet another one. Their entire face was covered with the smoke from the Woodstock Pipe they had. The blonde man was so energized he didn't notice the man sneaking up behind him.

"Next one decides it," France said nervously, not noticing the strange man either. He picked through the crowd with his eyes. _Got that one…..and that one…_

"THERE!" he shouted. "Man with the bowler hat! Ohonhon, I win_, Angleterre_!"

Silence.

"_Angleterre_?" France looked around nervously. "_Mon petit lapin?"_

He had disappeared.

_"ANGLETERRE!"_

Said _Angleterre _was occupied as France screamed his name. He had been grabbed by the wrist by an unseen force, and with little more than a small "Hey!" he was dragged to the back of the bar.

"What the fuck?!" England exclaimed as his wrist was released, only for his arms to be pinned against the wall. A wild-eyed blonde girl was grinning at him maliciously.

"Didn't your mummy tell you not to curse?" she purred, her eyes clouded with liquor.

England bit back a sharp reply of "I raised myself, and the person around me most often taught me how cuss in French as well," instead opting to try to struggle out of the girl's grip. She was _strong_. To think that the British Empire would be captured by a drunk twenty five year old.

"I always like the younger ones," the girl licked her lips.

"I'm much, much older than you think," Arthur hissed. "I was around before your grandmother's grandmother."

"You're also a little bit…off," the girl giggled. "I like that in a man. How about a kiss, sweetheart?" She leaned in, her breath rank with the stench of whiskey.

England turned his face in disgust. "Frog!" he yelled desperately. "FROG! OI!"

"I'm insulted. I am quite a pretty girl. Every boy in college was after me, you know," she smirked. "What's so different about you? Are you gay or something?"

"Have you ever considered that people don't like it when they are dragged through a bar and pinned to the wall, then proceeded to be kissed by a total stranger?!" Britain yelled angrily. "FROG! GET YOUR LAZY FRENCH ASS OVER HERE!"

"Oh, so I'm not who you were calling 'frog?' That's good." A puzzled expression came over her face. "Or is it? You're calling a friend to help you. But I do like the French…."

Suddenly, the blonde was pulled off of him. France looked at him, ashen faced.

"_Mon petit lapin….._?" he asked hesitantly.

"Are you 'frog?'" the drunk girl asked gleefully. "He was calling for you."

"I heard," France gulped, letting go of the girl and letting her stumble off to embrace England.

"Frog…." He said softly.

"Come on. We're going home," Francis said, tears in his eyes.

"Why are you so sad?" England asked, concerned.

"I was so worried…..that something might have happened…." France choked out. "I didn't know where you were…"

"Well, you know where I am now," Britain tried to comfort Francis. "So…..it'll all be fine. How about I drive us home?"

The French nation mopped his eyes. "Alright."

"I think all of this smoke is going to my head anyway," England muttered. "Let's go."

* * *

It was night. The snow that had been falling for the past week had lessened, and a few stars glimmered on the blanket of black. England smiled. It had been an eventful day. France was probably more traumatized by the experience than he was, and the whole time he had made dinner he had kept glancing back at Britain, just to make sure he was there.

There was a creek, and Arthur sat up. "France?"

"_O-oui_," the other nation said uncertainly. "_Angleterre, _I…..can't sleep."

"Do you want me to heat you up a glass of warm milk?" England asked. "It helped Alfred many a nights."

"_Non. _I was wondering if…if…" Francis looked down at his feet. "Would it be okay if I slept with you tonight?"

"Why?!" Britain cried loudly, and France winced.

"I can't sleep. I keep thinking that you're gone again. I need to know for certain," he said softly. England sighed.

"Get in."

"What?" France looked up in shock.

"I said, you frog, get in the bloody bed. Before I change my mind."

A wide grin split across France's face. "_Merci!_" He clambered in, pulling the covers over both of them. England couldn't help but smile as he felt France's arms clutch him and hold him.

_This is how it is meant to be._

* * *

**Allistor - fan name for Ireland(that I like)**

**Ian - fan name for Scotland(that I like)**

**More fluff and more serious(y) themes. I really didn't know what I was going to do with pipers, but somewhere along the way my twisted mind said 'You should make it about smoking.'**

**SMOKING IS BAD. THIS DOES NOT SUPPORT SMOKING AT ALL.**

**Iggy! Become a less awkward person when it comes to love!(Lol nope never gonna happen.)**

**Reviews, favorites, follows, and alerts are love!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Last (official)chapter! It's been great for you guys to read this! Though I can say I'm happy it's over. It was pretty stressful writing a chapter a day. When this is a word document, it takes up 106 pages, give or take a few. Editing will be a slowish process, but it will happen! And thank you to everyone who has ever reviewed, favorite, followed, and/or alerted this story! Now that's it's over, you can review the chapters you didn't get to before! Or not...but either way, thank you all so much! *hugs everybody***

**Disclaimer: Because I would totally be writing fanfiction if I owned Hetalia.**

* * *

Britain woke to the sound of drums from outside his house. The pounding beat was familiar to him. He _had _been a drummer, as France had brought up the previous day. Speaking of France, the nation of love had his arms wrapped around England at the moment. It was loving and tender, but when England attempted to wiggle out of it, the arms locked in place and refused to let go.

_Honestly, how has this man lost most of his wars_? Arthur thought in annoyance as he attempted to pry the Frenchman off of him. _He could latch onto a general and refuse to let go until the enemy surrenders._

As if responding to the thought, Francis's arms tightened around his chest. England awkwardly turned in the bed to hit him gently on the head. "Frog. Wake up."

France groaned and rolled over – effectively taking Arthur with him, who let out an indignant noise. The Frenchman opened a bleary eye.

"_Bon matin,_" he yawned, releasing his grip on Britain to stretch. "What is that _horrendous _noise?"

"Drums," England said shortly. "Loud ones."

Francis stared at him blankly, and realization dawned on him. "Oh. It's the twelfth day of Christmas. We should get up."

"I tried. You wouldn't let me go," Arthur told him impatiently. "Like a bloody death grip, it was."

"A sign of my affection~"

"You were _asleep_. Completely dead to the world."

"My subconscious loves you just as much as I do, _Angleterre_."

"_My _subconscious is just as violent as my regular self," England huffed. "I had a dream about hitting you with Hungary's skillet."

"Elizaveta wouldn't appreciate that you stole her most treasured position in your dream," France said mildly, getting out of the bed and searching through England's drawers for a shirt. Eventually deciding a white dress shirt wasn't _too _stuffy and, well, _British, _he pulled it on.

"Those drums are going to drive me insane," England muttered. "Can you find me something heavy?"

"I don't think so, _mon petit lapin_. England is supposed to be a peaceful nation, is it not?" France soothed.

"Doesn't mean I have to be peaceful as a person. I'm going to go give them a piece of my mind," Arthur scowled. "Toss me that."

"This?" Francis wrinkled his nose at a sweater vest.

"Yes, yes, hand it over."

"You have no sense of fashion," France sighed. "Fine, here you go, O Unfashionable One."

England caught the vest in one hand. He pulled on an equally ugly shirt, then the sweater vest. Francis winced from just looking at him. Or maybe the drums were getting to him.

"What drummer did you hire?" England asked loudly, rubbing his head.

"I don't know. They were free, and I didn't bother asking names and such," France shrugged.

"Free?"

"They're a group of hippies or something. Very anti-money," Francis said airily, waltzing into the bathroom. "They each play a different type of drums. One plays the bongos. This one, I'm guessing, plays rock drums."

"I couldn't tell from the way that my ears are bleeding," Britain said sarcastically. He picked up his lava lamp he had gotten a while back and tossed it from hand to hand. _This will do._ Casually walking over to the window, he called, "What are you doing now?"

"My hair. Perfect isn't easy, you know," France vainly said. He ran his fingers through his golden locks, picking out the knots.

"Maybe I'll ruin it again today. Just because you said that," England taunted. He opened up the window, letting a blast of cold air into the room. Down below was a heavily dressed man banging on a set of drums. "Oi!"

The man looked up.

"You woke me up, you wanker!" England yelled, chucking the lava lamp at the man's face. It hit him with a satisfying crunch.

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing. I just told the bloke down there to not play his drums so bloody early in the morning."

"With words? I didn't hear much."

"You can believe that I told him to stop with words."

"Did your 'words' include throwing something at him?"

"You know me all too well."

* * *

The island nation sat at the breakfast table nibbling on a piece of dry toast. Yet another beat had been picked up at nine, this time by what sounded like galactic drums. And not that ridiculous Wii Music version that Alfred had forced him to play. No, REAL galactic drums. And they were possibly even more annoying than the rock drums.

But Francis had not let him anywhere near anything he could use as a weapon without supervision. Meaning he had to stick by the Englishman like tar stuck to a shoe. Currently, the island was eying the china pot of tea set out on the table. An evil smile grew on his face as he reached for it when the drums somehow got louder.

France snatched it quickly. "I'll pour the tea for you."

"I'm not helpless, you know," England glared at him, crossing his arms.

"I know," France muttered, pouring the steaming tea. "That's what I'm worried about."

"Excuse me?"

"_Rien_. I think you're hearing voices again, Arthur," France said quickly.

"That sounded nothing like…" Britain trailed off as he realized France was teasing him. "You sly bastard."

"Well, you're the one planning to murder a drummer with a tea pot," Francis rolled his eyes.

"I could do it, too," England turned to glare in the direction of the noise. "But knocking him unconscious would be less of a crime."

"Ah, yes, you don't want to go back to jail, do you?" the Frenchman narrowed his eyes. "You're so _bland_."

"I apologize for my willingness to obey the law."

"And I forgive you," Francis said with an air of dignity. "You poor, bland, unfashionable, British man."

"I have an excellent sense of fashion!" Arthur snapped.

"You're wearing a _sweater vest_."

"A very IN sweater vest!"

"So you're saying that this particular sweater vest is at the pinnacle of sweater-vestdom?"

"….yes."

"Unbelievable," France shook his head.

"Well, you're the one that smells like cheese, wine, and perfume all the time!" Britain flushed.

"That's a bad thing?" Francis raised his eyebrows.

"Very!" England turned up his nose. "A proper gentleman smells like a hard day's work, tea, and dirt."

"Dirt."

"From working in the garden, you dolt!"

"Ah, _oui_! Gardening: a gentleman's hobby," Francis smirked.

"Indeed it is," Arthur said in a 'this is the last word' tone. He began to reach for the teapot once again. France slapped his hand away, fearing for the future drummers' safety.

* * *

The next set of drums came at 10AM. England didn't even count those drums as drums. Steel drums could play a tune. Steel drums reminded him of the Caribbean, with sunny beaches and sunny beach music. It was okay, but today Arthur was pissy enough to dislike everything.

"Can I _please _take this one out?" he begged, clutching an unplugged lamp to his chest protectively.

"_Non, Angleterre_. I thought you said that you _didn't _want to go to jail," France reasoned. It was like arguing with a small child. A small child who had ruled a quarter of the globe, had a high sense of entitlement, cursed like a sailor as he had been a pirate, and was prone to violence. "Assault is a crime, you know."

"Assault with a _lamp_ isn't," England insisted.

"It's still assault, isn't it? Therefore, it is illegal," Francis ran his fingers through his hair.

"But it's _so bloody annoying_," the words came out as a hiss, and England frowned angrily.

This statement of annoyance was, in fact, true. The drummer was playing something that sounded like a mix of 'Mary had a Little Lamb,' 'All You Need Is Love,' and 'Don't Stop Believin'.'

France caved, but on his terms. Britain couldn't hurt the musician, only yell at him. Arthur solemnly swore he wouldn't, crossing his fingers behind his back. A minor scuffle erupted when Francis attempted to take England's lamp. This scuffle left Francis unconscious and Arthur with only one shoe.

Not bothering to put on his shoe that had defeated France, Arthur walked(slightly lopsidedly) out the door, grinning. The cold didn't bother him. He was buzzing with anticipation. Outside, a bearded man bundled in winter clothes determinedly played 'Don't Stop Mary, All She Needs Is Love' like his life depended on it.

"Hello," he said, concentrating on his drums.

"Hello. Goodbye."

And with that, Great Britain brought the lamp on top of the man's head.

"_Mon Dieu_, my head," Francis moaned, holding ice to his skull. "Who knew a shoe could hurt so much…."

"Well, now you do!" England said gleefully. "And the world has one less steel drum player for a little while."

"It'll take a few weeks for him to recover from the trauma of being attacked by a lamp-wielding personification of England," France sighed.

"I _am _quite imposing, aren't I?" Britain looked pleased. France, in turn, sweat dropped.

Suddenly, and angry look clouded Arthur's face. France noticed. "What?"

England's lip curled into a sneer. "_Bongos_."

* * *

It turns out that handcuffing an aggravated Englishman to his bed was a very good idea. Especially when that Englishman was about to march out of the house once again and murder an innocent bongo player. His temper did not improve at all through the day, when more drummers arrived every hour, on the hour. Replacing the bongos was the snare drum. Then the djembe. Then the conga. Even an electrical one, which was basically just dubstep drum.

Five. Eight. Eleven. Arthur nearly cried tears of joy when eight o'clock pm rolled around. The last drummer packed up his set and left, leaving England and peace. Only him, his bed, and his handcuffs.

Wait.

"FROG! GET ME OUT OF THESE!" he howled. France strolled into the room, a smug smile on his face.

"Mmm, I don't see why I should," he said, looking down on England and unable to keep the smile off his face. "It's much nicer when you're like this."

"Shut up!"

"Why did you even have a set of handcuffs in the bathroom anyway?" France asked, sitting on the bed, _just _out of Britain's reach. "A little kinky, are we?"

Arthur blushed profusely. "No!"

"I don't believe you," Francis drawled. "You are a very, very naughty Englishman."

"What the hell have I done?"

"Well, today you've knocked out two different drummers with two different lamps –"

"The first one was a lava lamp."

"It has the word 'lamp' in it; it's a lamp. Anyway, you also knocked _moi _unconscious with your shoe, and you've been cursing every other word."

"I have fucking not!"

"My point is proven," Francis got off the bed and bowed. "Also, you have a _terrible _sense of fashion."

"We both agreed that my sweater vest was the top of its class. The 'pinnacle of sweater-vestdom,'" England growled. "Your words, frog."

"I did say that," France sighed dramatically. "I suppose, then, I shall free you."

"Thank you."

But only if…." France leaned in close, smiling from ear to ear. "If you agree to go on a date with me."

"A d-date?!" England spluttered.

"_Oui_! Friday, perhaps?" France squatted down next to him.

"Why should I go on a date with you?" Arthur asked, trying to keep his voice calm. Half of his brain wanted to strangle France. The other half wanted to kiss him.

"Well, we've already admitted our feelings for one another," the Frenchman pointed out. "So why not make it official?"

England sighed. "…..fine."

France squealed in delight and hugged Britain.

"Yes, yes, I'm amazing," England muttered, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Now unlock me, would you?"

* * *

"Oi. Frog," Britain looked at the figure beside him.

"Mmm?"

"You're leaving tomorrow," he stated.

"_Oui_."

"…..do you want me to drive you to the airport?" England asked hesitantly. France smiled.

"_Oui_."

"Okay, then. I will," Arthur murmured, turning over to try to fall asleep. Francis chuckled softly.

"_Merci. _I would have just stolen some of your money for a taxi, though."

"What?"

France placed a chaste kiss on Britain's head. "Nothing at all, _mon amour_."

* * *

**'I would have just stolen some of your money for a taxi, though.' Most romantic thing ever. XD**

**There WILL be an epilogue. Hopefully it'll be up by tomorrow. :D But this is the last _chapter_ chapter. **

**I'm so happy that you enjoyed this! And if you didn't...well, then why are you on chapter 14? **

**Reviews, favorites, follows, and alerts are love! Just because it's over doesn't mean you can't do any of this!**


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